Day 1 and I love my builder
Genevieve Fox

Day 1: My builder, aka Bob, has moved in. I love him. Yes, I know it’s day one of our refurbishment (our lower-ground floor is being turned into a family zone/homework hub/dining-room-meets-garden space) but I feel the love will grow through the heat, the dust, the burst pipes, the overspend etc etc. In fact, there will be no overspend. My Shoestring Chic fashion-designer-turned-interiors-whizz has given me a pep talk on KEEPING TO YOUR BUDGET ON PAIN OF DEATH. She’s now selling her des-res in Primrose Hill, which she renovated, for zillions, so I suppose she knows what she’s talking about. Bumped into the estate agent who sold our Primmy Hill gaffe and he said we sold at a great time. Is there ever a bad time for selling in Primmy Hill, I ask myself. Still.
Am planning a separate fridge for drinks. How grown-up is that? We’re having bar stools, too, admittedly ten years after everybody else, and I have all kinds of high jinks planned with strips of LED lighting. Am doing mood lighting too. The house can double as a casino. What was that landlord Bob says he’ll get Pepper, our miniature schnauzer puppy, a high-vis jacket and hard hat. I’m channelling Sarah Beeny and doing checked shirt, blue jeans and cowboys boots. Have been to Benchmarx, B & Q and Magnet so far in search of an unaffordable answer to Plain English.
Makes me wonder why we’ve just demolished the solid granite work top. Solid granite. I thought it was a dodgy composite.