The people two doors down are having their house remodelled. Yesterday was all bump, bump, bump- a muffled hammering like the chugging of an oil well, punctuated by clatter-bangs as the debris got thrown in the skip. It gave Ailz a headache. By evening, standing out in the street, we could look up through their front bedroom window and see the underside of the roof. The bedroom ceiling/attic floor had been completely removed. The place where the bedroom once stopped formed a tidemark on the newly revealed gabled end; below it, paper; above it , bare, rough brick. The house had been holed out, cored, autopsied. The big, new space was grand and scary and made me think of abbeys.
Today the rebuilding begins. Banging, clanking, whooping and baritone chanting as the breezeblocks, floorboards and plasterboard panels are delivered.