I feel pretty rusty as I hit the keyboards today, for I have been silent on the blog front since the Summer holidays and now publicly confess that I have absolutely nothing to show from this self-imposed break.

Lying by an Italian pool with my Favourite Daughter back in July, and fuelled by some medicinal limincello, I declare to her that if I am ever to get my inaugural novel written, I will be better off using the time it takes to write my blog and instead tap out a couple of chapters of my aforementioned best-seller. She has her head phones in and can not hear me, so at least I will not disappoint her (in this respect anyway) when this declaration produces a zero harvest.

As I say, I have nothing to show for this respite, and now find my typing digits are out of practice and covered in paint.

However, I would hate you to think that I have been reclining on my sun lounger since the last blog. No, if your memory is good, you will remember that – back in the blog writing days of yore – I was on the brink of moving into the cottage that I had foolishly purchased and was busy renovating.

As I say, I have nothing to show for my absence.

I guess the fact that I finally have some paint on my hands is an encouraging sign. My grandmother always advised that you should look at what you have achieved and not what you still had left to do, and on this basis, even though I am not yet living in the cottage, opening a can of paint is a baby step in the right direction.

I have learnt that renovating a cottage is like running a marathon (did I mention that I am partial to the odd marathon?) and, in my novice renovation experience, I feel that I must be at about mile 22 of this project. I have now begged friends not to ask me when I am moving in, for I am developing an irritating tic when this question necessitates another acknowledgement of delay; I tell them that they will certainly know when I inhabit my petite des res, because I will keep on banging on about it in the same way I do about long distance running.

Property renovation has taught me that each stage of building work offers the opposite of a silver lining:

• a new boiler means new piping and this entails ripping up the bedroom flooring that I had been hoping to keep.
• rewiring means the discovery of asbestos and a downing of tools by a justifiably nervous electrician.
• asbestos removal slows up the plasterer and unsettles a perfectly good wall in the kitchen.
• this unsettled wall pinches an eroding water pipe which runs behind every kitchen cabinet – in a kitchen that wasn’t going to be touched
• in pulling out the kitchen, the plumber declares the gas cooker – purchased from the previous owner – is too dangerous to use. The cooker gets binned.
• ripping out the kitchen also reveals that the kitchen window is being held in place by the venetian blind above it. A glazier is contacted.
• re-plumbing the kitchen leads to cutting off the neighbour’s water supply by accident.
• then, cutting a loft hatch into the roof space and adding a fold down ladder, I climb aloft for the the first time and see gaping holes between the roof tiles and thus an explanation for the damp I had been trying to ignore in the newly plastered bedroom.

At times I have been too nervous to even visit the property, scared that just by standing on site, one of the contractors will need to tell me that they have a new discovery with which to hammer my bank balance. Thank goodness that I seem to have been gifted with the nicest contractors though, unpatronising, patient and happy to write me friendly little notes around the cottage when they realise that my head is full and I am very likely to forget what they have just told me.

I also have the most amazing friends, friends who remind me that, with a fair wind and a ‘can do’ attitude, I may just be in the property for my upcoming significant birthday. Most of them have now seen the cottage and not one of them has questioned this purchase, instead, they have filled the kettle up from the one water supply in the bathroom and sat me on the patio to admire my very expensive view. This patio is the one room in the house that seems to justify its existence. My list of thank you’s – if I had the energy to write them – would be endless, but a small taste includes:

• the friend who has not only provided me with lodgings for over a year, but has also set and managed my building budget to the point that there is a very real danger that I may just bring this project home in the black.
• the friend who crafted me a dragonfly kitchen whisk before she realised that the kitchen had just been ripped out.
• the same friend who turned up with a garden bench kit one Sunday morning because she remembered me saying that, in the future, the cottage would suit a bench. She stayed to build the bench with me and the accompanying photo testifies to the fact that it can bear the weight of a plumptious-nearly-60 year old.
• the various friends who have helped me lug various bits of carpentry, ironmongery and plaster board down 30 steps to the lane at the bottom of my property.
• the friends who have gifted me plants for the garden, knowing that I have a low garden IQ and that they may not see these specimens again on their next visit.
• the friend who allows me to drop in at the cottage when we are out for a run – even if it means a massive detour – and makes encouraging noises about progress when he can see that there is none.

So reader, who knows when you may next hear from me; let us just agree that you will be the first to know when I eventually become a writer in residence. Do not hold your breath while you wait for my first novel to be completed, just rest assured that I have the perfect writing room with the most perfect view…once I have done battle with some ‘work of the devil’ wood chip.