It was the charming French lad that started it all off. I had been sitting in the sun, outside the
house, minding my own business, when he ambled up. He said he hoped he wasn’t disturbing me, but
he had an offer I couldn’t possibly refuse. He spoke so quickly and his English
was of the ‘Allo ‘Allo variety, so I only understood about one word in five,
but it appeared that he was working for a firm named the Mark Group, and the
Government had commissioned them to fit loft insulation free of charge to all qualifying
properties. I started listening more intently when I heard the 'free of charge' motif.
The Frenchman asked if he could have a look in the loft. I acquiesced. He returned, shaking his head. He said that the thickness of the insulation up there was as effective as a candlewick bedspread would be to Sir Ranulph Fiennes. The Mark Group would fit insulation with a minimum thickness of eleven inches. The only caveat was that I had to empty the loft before the workmen came and ensure that I put nothing back on top of the insulation.
“If eet ees compressed, eet weel not work,” said the Frenchman.
The loft is partially boarded and is large, and contains an awful lot of stuff of mine that is dear to my heart, and is far too valuable to be thrown out. There are in excess of two thousand motoring magazines, the earliest of which dates from 1959. There are four hundred vehicle owners’ handbooks, the rarest of which is for the three-wheeled Rodley, of which about fifty were made before the factory went bust in the 1950s. There are two hundred books about steam locomotives. There are four electric guitars in their cases, plus a banjo, a ukulele and a piano accordion, none of which I can play. There are three Christmas trees and enough Christmas lighting to illuminate an amateur club’s football pitch. There is a wheeled contrivance for transporting a chemical toilet around a campsite. There are two suitcases the size of coffins. Finally, there are all of the newspaper match reports for Newcastle United from 1994 to 2011, when I grew fed up of cutting them out of the papers.
It took me two days to empty the loft and three to fill it, because I had to manufacture sixteen shelves to fit between the joists so I could store my books and handbooks and thus avoid placing material on top of the insulation. I could only lift about twenty magazines at a time up and down the Ramsay ladder and through the narrow hatch opening, so I made some two hundred descents and ascents with magazines alone. I banged my head on the same joist every time I hauled myself through the loft opening. I damaged my Achilles tendon climbing the flimsy aluminium steps with a heavy load, and I once had a sneezing fit brought about by a combination of dust and loose bits of the new insulation. I had to stack the magazines in boxes one on top of the other, so I’ll never be able to read those in the bottom boxes. It doesn’t matter, because I’ve worked out that if I read from cover to cover every item that is up there, I would be 105 years old before I’d finished.
Nevertheless, looking on the bright side, I now have nice new insulation on the non-boarded part of the loft. However, if I costed my labour at £20 per hour, and I worked for 45 hours, it would take about fourteen years to recoup the labour cost in energy savings from all of this extra insulation.
The moral to this story is - if you see a Frenchman with a clipboard coming up your drive, say to him 'Non' – it’s simply not worth it.
The Frenchman asked if he could have a look in the loft. I acquiesced. He returned, shaking his head. He said that the thickness of the insulation up there was as effective as a candlewick bedspread would be to Sir Ranulph Fiennes. The Mark Group would fit insulation with a minimum thickness of eleven inches. The only caveat was that I had to empty the loft before the workmen came and ensure that I put nothing back on top of the insulation.
“If eet ees compressed, eet weel not work,” said the Frenchman.
The loft is partially boarded and is large, and contains an awful lot of stuff of mine that is dear to my heart, and is far too valuable to be thrown out. There are in excess of two thousand motoring magazines, the earliest of which dates from 1959. There are four hundred vehicle owners’ handbooks, the rarest of which is for the three-wheeled Rodley, of which about fifty were made before the factory went bust in the 1950s. There are two hundred books about steam locomotives. There are four electric guitars in their cases, plus a banjo, a ukulele and a piano accordion, none of which I can play. There are three Christmas trees and enough Christmas lighting to illuminate an amateur club’s football pitch. There is a wheeled contrivance for transporting a chemical toilet around a campsite. There are two suitcases the size of coffins. Finally, there are all of the newspaper match reports for Newcastle United from 1994 to 2011, when I grew fed up of cutting them out of the papers.
It took me two days to empty the loft and three to fill it, because I had to manufacture sixteen shelves to fit between the joists so I could store my books and handbooks and thus avoid placing material on top of the insulation. I could only lift about twenty magazines at a time up and down the Ramsay ladder and through the narrow hatch opening, so I made some two hundred descents and ascents with magazines alone. I banged my head on the same joist every time I hauled myself through the loft opening. I damaged my Achilles tendon climbing the flimsy aluminium steps with a heavy load, and I once had a sneezing fit brought about by a combination of dust and loose bits of the new insulation. I had to stack the magazines in boxes one on top of the other, so I’ll never be able to read those in the bottom boxes. It doesn’t matter, because I’ve worked out that if I read from cover to cover every item that is up there, I would be 105 years old before I’d finished.
Nevertheless, looking on the bright side, I now have nice new insulation on the non-boarded part of the loft. However, if I costed my labour at £20 per hour, and I worked for 45 hours, it would take about fourteen years to recoup the labour cost in energy savings from all of this extra insulation.
The moral to this story is - if you see a Frenchman with a clipboard coming up your drive, say to him 'Non' – it’s simply not worth it.
