A bat at dawn

The weather has been kind but it’s getting colder.

This morning in the workshop at six, making tea to take back to bed (in the house), I watched a bat in the dawn half light, swooping between the buildings and over the birches.  It looked bigger than a pipistrelle. 

The two electrician’s lads worked all Thursday and on Friday left without quite fulfilling their promise.  Instead of the half day they’d predicted they were here until after five, and despite several calls to their boss were unable to work out why the lights keep tripping the residual current (safety) device.  To my wary relief Arun explained why it couldn’t (?) be a nail through a cable.  Iain the boss will return on Monday to sort it out.  The good news is that I have a working kitchen, hot water coming out of taps and working power sockets.

The house now has its proper temporary supply, freeing my cable reel extension to deliver electricity to wherever it’s needed in the house .

On Thursday at one Andrew came to help me set up for the battening, working out a simple and practical method for positioning the first (lowest) batten.  As the rain had stopped he’d come early so I skipped the lunch I was about to have and we got on.  The rafters don’t project beyond the face of the building (remember it’s all wrapped in 240mm of insulation) and apart from a few centimetres of corrugated steel roofing sheet sticking out over the gutters, there will be no overhang.  

I had five hundred and fifty 250mm long screws and Andrew had two hundred of 280mm he’d bought for my project but not used. 

We decided to use them in alternate rows of battens – my shorter screws had washer-like heads beneath a hexagonal bolt – they were easy to drive but needed counter-sinking to let the heads lie flush with the batten surface.  Andrew’s longer screws were thinner with regular posidrive heads and were much harder to drive.   The shaft flexed and wobbled and the bit jumped out of the head, grinding metal as it went.  I could hear and feel the different resistance as the screw went through batten and counter batten then hit the underlying insulation, which it penetrated almost effortlessly.  If my aim was good and the blue counter batten had been fixed accurately over the rafter there would then be several centimetres of further resistance, as the threads drilled and bit into the solid rafter before the head was fully down.  Sometimes that resistance didn’t come and I’d have to take the screw out.  Unfortunately the thread of the thinner screws didn’t find enough resistance in the wood fibre to reverse out and I’d have to battle with mole grips, or grips and impact driver together, to extract the screw.  And then try again – more to the left or more to the right?  Sometimes my first guess was good, but I am neither clairvoyant nor dowser and other times it took up to four attempts. 

After the progressively finer detail of the workshop I found battening refreshing, the larger scale work a welcome change.

By five thirty on Saturday afternoon the roof battening was done apart from two last pieces on top of the east pitch. 

That last row on each side was a wonderful relief as the screws bit down into the massive glulam ridge beam under the insulation.  There was no ‘will it won’t it’ worry as the screw went in – a good note to finish on.  

My neighbours made me supper and not long after nine I went home and in bed was dissolved in sleep.

It’s Sunday, my day off and as a special treat I’ll drive to Lochgilphead, dump a car full of assorted recycling/landfill house building material at the recycling centre and shop.

Before leaving I moved the washing machine socket that some bright spark had fixed so close to the washing machine supply tap you couldn’t get the plug in. Before pushing the machine into place I wanted to keep the cable out of harm’s way and made a hook from an old lobster pot hook that I screwed under the worktop. More improvisational fun…

Talking of improvisation here’s one of the most serviceable and useful things we’ve had on the plot, found deep in the grass and rushes behind the beach at Loch Stornoway, presumably made by a fisherman with a drill, a knife and the materials to hand…

It’s a huge relief to have started on the roofing, who knows what Monday will bring?  Crinkly tin?