Carol’s Column

Oh woe is me, now that the builders have all departed

The builders left yesterday.

My life is empty, silent and barren.

I miss the happy sound of shattering glass, crumbling bricks, falling masonry, crunching cement and — most of all — I miss the tune of early-morning shouting as the builders clomp through the house, merrily calling to each other, loudly, very loudly.

But all is not lost. There are still the little signs everywhere to remind me that once, not so long ago, they were here.

The toilet seat that is upside down. The cold tap marked "hot", the hot tap marked "cold". The light switches positioned crookedly on walls that curve where before they were straight.

But what a pleasure it is to walk through our house on floors instead of planks. So what if there's a ragged edge or two where skirting boards have been ripped from walls never to be replaced. It adds a sense of interest to the complete whole.

In the diningroom light streams through the plate-glass sliding doors, as does the wind through the gap at the top where never the twain shall meet.

Does it matter that the bedroom cupboard doors do not shut? For what can be gayer than the sight of drawers, shelves and rails overflowing with colourful garments? In fact, who needs cupboard doors anyway — they clutter up the room.

Bookcases tilt interestingly, with a flowing, fluid feel. And talking of fluid, our plumbing is now a community affair. Originally each unit worked independently, but these days, if you flush the toilet, the bath harmonises and the shower sings.

And the kitchen. Aah, the kitchen. It's not that I mind doing the washing in the stove or grilling steak in the sink. But it is distressing when I switch on the toaster and the tumble-dryer begins to hum.

The garden has also changed. Where there were shrubs, today there are none. Bravely, grass sprouts through the rubble and flowers vie with piles of sand and cement bags hardened after being abandoned in the rain. Like the pyramids, they will remain forever because nobody has the strength to move them.

Breakfast is a lonely affair now that the builders have departed. Their hustle and bustle, not to mention that of the electricians, plumbers and carpenters, is missing. Conversation was always heated, such as the debate on whether or not De Klerk and Mandela should be replaced by Mimi Coertse.

Of course, not everything is perfect. The chimney is my particular sadness. Replaced when its predecessor collapsed, it should have been painted purple for I felt it would distinguish our house from all the others around it. Instead, it is a dull white.

The upstairs shower leaks into the diningroom so we've banned anyone from showering while people are breakfasting. It is not nice to have water dripping down while munching muesli.

My husband says there is a pipe missing and the overflow is flowing over and down instead of over and out.

Yes, life is not the same without builders. But, when I phoned this morning to complain about one or two minor things — such as the crack in the study wall through which we can now see the oak tree, or the bedroom window-frame that crashed through the new patio roof — Mr van der Soet said not to worry, he'd be along with his team to fix up everything.

I can't wait.

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