the regenerator 2

If you thought it was bad enough that the house had wet feet, it has a soft head too…

I really tried to preserve the old thick steel roof for as long as I could – only five years ago, with major ado, I sanded it down and painted it painstakingly with three layers. It has not helped. The fucker still leaks like a showerhead.

Problem is, I have discovered, in the old days the steel sheets were not full length, but jointed/spliced together. In the winter, when you have half a meter of snow on the roof, and the water rails act as snowstoppers, and the isolation underneath is simple sawdust, you get heat from underneat the roof warming up the snow, during the same time the weight of the snow is pushing down on the joints, water slowly manages to trickle down into yep, obviously the worst case scenario, the walls. Naturally, a hundred years ago they did not use underlay to stop/steer the water away in case of leakage. Just steel on wood, then sawdust.

[Interlude: Work on a new roof scheduled to begin 2nd May 2011. We’re chopping the head off, out with the sick crap, in with new isolation (Ekovilla), new wood, best underlay money can buy, and black Monier tiles with glassed surface. Will look like a million bucks, and last forever.]

Of course, I thought, hey whatever, I’ll get a good price on the house (by now, I figured it would be practically for free!). Sarcastical chuckle. Again, I hope you read some previous posts…

I started here last fall;

By now, I’m so god damn used to opening up walls that I don’t really get a full-size heart attack when I see the damage. But still, it is a bit hard to take, when you discover how your dear house has rotted away for decades. I know my parents must have known about this, because there has been evidence of some improv work here. I don’t cast blame; I just wonder why they did not fix it properly?

Water runs down, creating havoc along the way. So does my chainsaw. Let the sparks fly. I ain’t stopping ’til I hit fresh wood.

After cutting out a great big gaping wound in the wall of the house, it is time to tailor. No standard pieces here. Everything must fit. It takes forever. Layer after layer.

Even the window frame was mush. I made a new one, and re-used the old metal parts.

Progress. There is nothing quite like it. As you are cutting away the rot, you feel like you’re just digging yourself deeper into a hole, but when you get into the rebuild, your mood improves, and soon you are itching for your real workday to end, so you can begin playing. Eventually, it turns into something you call “hobby”.

New beams. Sweeeeeeeeeeet.

Getting cosy with a bit of fur.

Jesus was here, with his magical Makita tools, healed the sick house. Again, you can’t beat the feeling of closing up with fresh new panel. Of course, this being an auld house, the panels are a strange size they do not make anymore. But throw a bit of cash around, and everything is possible. These puppies are custom made.

Primer, baby. One wall done, many to go. But for god’s sake, have a beer and hug. Rome was not built in a day.

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