9 pm Friday and the house is cold, with open doors and windows overcoming the central heating effortlessly.
I find it hard to believe that 'nothing can be done' about this residual gas problem. I worry about becoming the shock-horror story of how 'something should have been done' (but wasn't, and now look at what happened!)
I reach a stage where, close to a self-pitying sob (no bathroom! building supplies everywhere! gas seeping uncontrollably into my cold, dusty, comfortless, draughty home!), I contemplate booking myself into a B&B for the night, but stiffen the upper lip and go to bed with an electric blanket on, set to All Night. And oddly, sleep soundly. Lottie and Millie glue themselves to the warm bed and don't move till morning. Tosca coughs a little in the corner, but she is better now, and quickly settles down for the night.
(Note: wrong seat on toilet; replacement awaited. Well-known builders merchants gets it wrong again.)
(Note: wrong size of basin; replacement awaited. Well-known builders merchant etc...)
This morning, the gassy smell is still there, but the judicious closing of doors in the the rabbit warren that is the downstairs of my house has kept Flossie, Scooter and Hamish cosy and ungassed in the dining room while the hall feels the full force of the wind through the propped-open back door.
This afternoon, the smell has lessened. I clean the sitting room within an inch of its life, so that there is one room at least where we can be comfortable and dust-free this weekend, and I feel a bit more hopeful.
The building supplies will dwindle next week and metamorphose into a glossy tiled bathroom, with gleaming taps and shower panels; the smell of wet plaster will change to that of beautiful scented soaps, and all will be clean. Including me.
And then the work on the utility-to-be will start up again....