We have retreated, to Southend on Sea, to a view of Tilbury, speeding container ships, and Adventure Island below. I left 'Old Scotty' in the rubble of our kitchen today. There he was, grey in dust, still brandishing his jackhammer. He'd found more concrete to remove, and him and his mate John looked pretty much like their aim was tunneling through to the other side (our neighbours downstairs). As I apologized to our neighbour next door, she did look pretty shaken.
This was supposed to be a light touch of a job, and now it looks like Stalingrad 1943. Still, we will persevere, I bade goodbye to Scott with the faith in final victory and a promise to order the IKEA worktops. Why is it all architectural jobs, if you want to do them properly, end up with such pain (it's still IKEA)? Or is that precisely why the cheap shit does so well? It's cheap, it's easy, and it's shit (we agree IKEA worktops are not entirely shit). Clearly Scott and I are in more ways than one a half century behind the times, we are ideologically driven to make it right, whatever it takes. I cannot put it any other way, you cannot stand up on the rubble of our kitchen right now, so it's up against the (remaining) wall for everybody else.