The Suzi Lamplugh case comes to my mind sometimes, especially when I am on my own with a new client in an empty building in the middle of nowhere. Usually, I do not feel particularly nervous about meeting new clients, but in this case ……
He was somewhere in his sixties, scruffy, lots of wild grey hair and effusive in manner. You know the kind – probably goes shooting, has dogs, public school, quite charming and slightly bonkers. I usually like clients like him. They are interesting people, frequently ex -services, settle invoices on time and are suitably appreciative of Alice’s efforts. He telephoned out of the blue, asking me to look at a derelict house he was thinking of buying. Now, even though I often see people alone, I am not completely stupid. I always take the prospective client’s details, let someone know who I am seeing, where I am going and when I expect to be back. When I get onto the site, I park my car facing the entrance, usually in front of theirs, and leave it unlocked. I wear shoes I can run in, and cover up – no plunge necklines or tight trousers; no dangly earrings, lippy or mascara.
So, there I was, dressed like a man, with my new client asking me if I was married. He then started flirting mildly, as elderly gentlemen often do – nothing too spooky about that but we were miles from anywhere. The meeting obviously being over, I asked him to excuse me whilst I made a phone call, and moved away from him to tell A N Other I was about to leave. I realised he was right behind me. ‘Are you worried you are about to be molested?’ he said, drooling slightly from about four inches away.
I wondered whether to tell him about my black belt in Karate, but thought he might be tempted to call my bluff. Instead, I went into Remember I’m the Bloody Architect mode, and was as arrogant and cold with him as possible. I said ‘Mr Man, I have reached the end of the free half hour initial consultation, and if you wish for any more of my time, I will charge you my hourly rate of £250.00 plus VAT.’ He was so taken aback, he shut up for a minute, during which time I got into my car, started the engine and locked the doors.
He could have been completely innocent – but……
*Unlike some of my police readers, I do not come into contact with nasty thugs every day who do this kind of thing http://www.thisislocallondon.co.uk/news/topstories/display.var.819371.0.youths_jailed_for_leaving_cop_in_vegetative_state.php
Reading about this young PC’s life being ruined by these two trolls made me realise that my brushes with one or two unpleasant so-and-sos pales into insignificance. I write this post and the next in the series with the greatest respect to PC Daniel Coffill.
27 February 2007
26 February 2007
....and the Ugly
Occasionally I get bad clients who get ugly. On one memorable occasion, whilst I was a baby architect working for a large firm, we were asked to prepare an historic report on a house on a minor estate owned by a politician. I was far too junior to actually meet this august person, but suffice to say he was a dyed in the wool, misogynistic right winger, who would make Margaret Thatcher look soft.
An archaeological report was a condition of planning permission and listed building consent. It is often required when a building is due to be altered or demolished. In this case, there were some minor alterations to be done at the rear, but the clients were so proud of their new house that they wanted something rather more than that. They were sure that Elizabeth 1 had slept there and that it had been part of a much larger building, now mostly demolished.
I visited the site with my immediate boss, took photos, measurements, looked at the surrounding gardens, did some research at the local record office, prepared detailed drawings and came to the conclusion……. it was nothing special. In fact, we thought it was 17th century, rather than 16th, meaning that Elizabeth would have had to camp in a field if she had tried to sleep there. There was no evidence it had been anything more than a small manor house, or possibly a large farmhouse. It wasn’t even well built enough for a titled landowner.
I prepared a report, lit the blue touch paper, and retired to a safe distance. The explosion, when it came, was quite spectacular – but did the scrote go for my boss? Oh, no. He went for Alice, with a nasty three page letter stating why he did not think he should pay our (massive) fees. He even counted the words in my report and apportioned a price to each word. He asked for another opinion, as he didn’t think ‘that little girl’ knew what she was talking about and should she be working for such a well known architects’ firm? She might ruin their reputation! In those days, the firm protected their own and closed ranks, then called in the debt collector.
He got his second opinion. It was no different from ours. Then he lost his seat at the next election. My curse worked!
An archaeological report was a condition of planning permission and listed building consent. It is often required when a building is due to be altered or demolished. In this case, there were some minor alterations to be done at the rear, but the clients were so proud of their new house that they wanted something rather more than that. They were sure that Elizabeth 1 had slept there and that it had been part of a much larger building, now mostly demolished.
I visited the site with my immediate boss, took photos, measurements, looked at the surrounding gardens, did some research at the local record office, prepared detailed drawings and came to the conclusion……. it was nothing special. In fact, we thought it was 17th century, rather than 16th, meaning that Elizabeth would have had to camp in a field if she had tried to sleep there. There was no evidence it had been anything more than a small manor house, or possibly a large farmhouse. It wasn’t even well built enough for a titled landowner.
I prepared a report, lit the blue touch paper, and retired to a safe distance. The explosion, when it came, was quite spectacular – but did the scrote go for my boss? Oh, no. He went for Alice, with a nasty three page letter stating why he did not think he should pay our (massive) fees. He even counted the words in my report and apportioned a price to each word. He asked for another opinion, as he didn’t think ‘that little girl’ knew what she was talking about and should she be working for such a well known architects’ firm? She might ruin their reputation! In those days, the firm protected their own and closed ranks, then called in the debt collector.
He got his second opinion. It was no different from ours. Then he lost his seat at the next election. My curse worked!
24 February 2007
.....the Bad....
As soon as I met him, I didn’t like him. An alarm rang deep in my psyche, warning me not to take him on. Usually, I obey my instincts, because there will always be another client just over the horizon, and these days fortunately, I can pick and choose who I work for. For a start, he wouldn't tell me what he did for a living. For all I knew, he was a gangster, or a taxman. Secondly, he had fallen out with his previous architect, but had a design he liked and wanted to proceed with ‘someone fresh’. I don’t like taking on someone else’s design, partly because I prefer my own designs (there’s a bit of architect arrogance coming out!) and partly because taking on someone else’s train of thought almost always produces problems.
I met his wife, who was overweight, spotty, anxious and just dying to get on with the work. ‘We’re so short of space’ she gasped. The house was on the large side, they only had one child and I couldn’t see why they wanted such a huge extension, but at the time I needed the work. They had planning permission, but needed construction drawings to comply with the Building Regulations and prices from builders. They refused to tell me their budget. I told them that talking to me is like talking to their doctor; it would go no further. After glaring at each other for a while, they told me it was around £50,000, a realistic figure at the time.
With a deep breath, I plunged in. Began drawings. Realised that the design they had could not be made to comply with Part L of the building regulations (conservation of fuel and power) due to the enormous areas of glass in the roof. Normally this could be called a conservatory and there would be no problem, but in this case it was impossible (for convoluted Building Regulations reasons, which I won’t go into here).
Problem number 1 – re-jig the design. Extra fees for Alice. They grumbled, but paid up.
Problem number 2 soon reared its ugly head – the wife said she wanted lots of sunshine into the ground floor room. I gently told her the building faced north, and it would be impossible unless we put the extension on the other side. ‘But that’s where I want it,’ she whined and went on to say why she thought this beautiful, graceful, well built, delightful and spacious Victorian house was simply not good enough for ‘our needs today’. I didn’t think it prudent to ask her why they didn’t just move house – I was beginning to think she was mentally unbalanced.
Problem number 3 – after they changed their minds many, many times, I at last completed a design they were happy with and sent it out to tender (pricing by builders). Prices came in at around 40K, leaving enough in their 50K budget for my fees, VAT and the other additional expenses which are normal for building projects. Well, they went through the (unbuilt) roof. They turned up at my office, demanding to know why the price was so enormously high when they told me their budget was 25K!
Problem number 4 – could I make my invoice out to Mr’s company, rather than himself – basically so he could evade tax and VAT. Now this is dodgy, to say the least, and if Alice here is caught doing such sleight of hand with invoices, she could get struck off. I refused, and he accused me of being obstructive, then asked for a reduction in my fee. As I had already spent a huge amount of time on it, far more than I felt I could actually bill them for, I felt insulted, and refused.
Problem number 5 inevitably followed – you’ve guessed it – they didn’t want to pay my fee. After a lot of jumping up and down from me, I extracted about half of it. I lost money, but Jeez, was I pleased to see them go.
I met his wife, who was overweight, spotty, anxious and just dying to get on with the work. ‘We’re so short of space’ she gasped. The house was on the large side, they only had one child and I couldn’t see why they wanted such a huge extension, but at the time I needed the work. They had planning permission, but needed construction drawings to comply with the Building Regulations and prices from builders. They refused to tell me their budget. I told them that talking to me is like talking to their doctor; it would go no further. After glaring at each other for a while, they told me it was around £50,000, a realistic figure at the time.
With a deep breath, I plunged in. Began drawings. Realised that the design they had could not be made to comply with Part L of the building regulations (conservation of fuel and power) due to the enormous areas of glass in the roof. Normally this could be called a conservatory and there would be no problem, but in this case it was impossible (for convoluted Building Regulations reasons, which I won’t go into here).
Problem number 1 – re-jig the design. Extra fees for Alice. They grumbled, but paid up.
Problem number 2 soon reared its ugly head – the wife said she wanted lots of sunshine into the ground floor room. I gently told her the building faced north, and it would be impossible unless we put the extension on the other side. ‘But that’s where I want it,’ she whined and went on to say why she thought this beautiful, graceful, well built, delightful and spacious Victorian house was simply not good enough for ‘our needs today’. I didn’t think it prudent to ask her why they didn’t just move house – I was beginning to think she was mentally unbalanced.
Problem number 3 – after they changed their minds many, many times, I at last completed a design they were happy with and sent it out to tender (pricing by builders). Prices came in at around 40K, leaving enough in their 50K budget for my fees, VAT and the other additional expenses which are normal for building projects. Well, they went through the (unbuilt) roof. They turned up at my office, demanding to know why the price was so enormously high when they told me their budget was 25K!
Problem number 4 – could I make my invoice out to Mr’s company, rather than himself – basically so he could evade tax and VAT. Now this is dodgy, to say the least, and if Alice here is caught doing such sleight of hand with invoices, she could get struck off. I refused, and he accused me of being obstructive, then asked for a reduction in my fee. As I had already spent a huge amount of time on it, far more than I felt I could actually bill them for, I felt insulted, and refused.
Problem number 5 inevitably followed – you’ve guessed it – they didn’t want to pay my fee. After a lot of jumping up and down from me, I extracted about half of it. I lost money, but Jeez, was I pleased to see them go.
18 February 2007
Tea
Totallyun-PC's comment 'Design me up a cup of tea, luv' - got me thinking about the role tea has to play in the construction industry (and, presumably, the police, who I believe cultivate 'tea holes' - a nice friendly place somewhere on the beat for a sit down and a decent cuppa).
The industry floats on tea. It is oiled by tea. Decisions involving millions of pounds are made over tea. Hirings and firings involve tea.
In Alice's world, I never actually make my own tea, but rely on the workings of the construction industry and its tea making compulsion. It starts with the prospective client offering tea whilst discussing their new project. The tea making ceremony is not interrupted by business talk - but discussions about the weather, the journey, the pet dog/cat/horse and only when sat in front of a rather nice china cup and saucer in the living room or office meeting room and possibly a teapot does the serious business begin. Usually the tea is rather weak and is of a rather wimpy type such as Earl Grey (disgusting) which has trouble struggling out of the pot. Occasionally I have been served green tea, which is equally disgusting but far more robust and drinkable, in a masochistic, it's - doing - me - good sort of way.
The next tea is offered during the survey of the building - this one has a more utilitarian function, as surveying can take hours. There is usually a large mug left somewhere in the kitchen (again, rather weak and often Earl Grey or Ceylon) which gradually goes cold as I can't carry it around with me, write and shout at my assistant at the same time.
Several meetings later the design is complete. These cups of tea are accompanied these days by a sit down in the best room, biscuits, or even cake, as the client becomes more comfortable with the architect and gets enthusiastic about the design (ideally - occasionally communication breaks down at this point and I get the sack, usually over more tea). One client made the most wonderful home made cake; I was spoilt for choice over fruit cake, ginger or date and walnut on one memorable occasion.
Work starts on site. Builders, of course, worship tea. The first break is always at ten and if I am on site at that time, I am usually offered an oversized, steaming mug of strong, no nonsense tea with lots of milk in the site hut. I don't take sugar but most builders put in enough to stand the spoon up in. The hut usually has a heater and is cosy, smells of wet clothes, wet mortar and sandwiches and has a large table with copies of my drawings on it, with scribbled notes, black finger prints and ring shaped tea stains on them. There are notices about site safety hanging up together with clusters of bunched receipts, yard tickets, cards from reps for the joinery or brick company and occasionally a saucy poster (although not so much, these days). I sit and write up my notes, to the sound of rustling newspapers, chewing and the low grumble of the builders as they moan happily about the world in general and their lot in particular.
Tea with other architects depends on the culture of that particular studio. Often it is in spartan surroundings where everything is either black or white, including the cups, which are funny shapes. The tea is a bewildering choice of fruit flavours, Lapsang Souchong, Earl Grey, organic -scraped -off -mountains -in -the -dew, Chinese Fermented or green. I usually ask for 'builders tea' and get a disgusting cup of Tetleys with dried milk, just to punish me for being so common. My more normal colleagues stick to mugs, proper milk but still, unfortunately, Tetleys. They give the posh cups to clients.
There seems to be one rule about tea in the construction industry. Never, ever interrupt the actual tea making ceremony with talk about business. This is as immovable as bedrock. The Japanese tradition? Nothing compared to this one. And remember that builders make the best tea.
The industry floats on tea. It is oiled by tea. Decisions involving millions of pounds are made over tea. Hirings and firings involve tea.
In Alice's world, I never actually make my own tea, but rely on the workings of the construction industry and its tea making compulsion. It starts with the prospective client offering tea whilst discussing their new project. The tea making ceremony is not interrupted by business talk - but discussions about the weather, the journey, the pet dog/cat/horse and only when sat in front of a rather nice china cup and saucer in the living room or office meeting room and possibly a teapot does the serious business begin. Usually the tea is rather weak and is of a rather wimpy type such as Earl Grey (disgusting) which has trouble struggling out of the pot. Occasionally I have been served green tea, which is equally disgusting but far more robust and drinkable, in a masochistic, it's - doing - me - good sort of way.
The next tea is offered during the survey of the building - this one has a more utilitarian function, as surveying can take hours. There is usually a large mug left somewhere in the kitchen (again, rather weak and often Earl Grey or Ceylon) which gradually goes cold as I can't carry it around with me, write and shout at my assistant at the same time.
Several meetings later the design is complete. These cups of tea are accompanied these days by a sit down in the best room, biscuits, or even cake, as the client becomes more comfortable with the architect and gets enthusiastic about the design (ideally - occasionally communication breaks down at this point and I get the sack, usually over more tea). One client made the most wonderful home made cake; I was spoilt for choice over fruit cake, ginger or date and walnut on one memorable occasion.
Work starts on site. Builders, of course, worship tea. The first break is always at ten and if I am on site at that time, I am usually offered an oversized, steaming mug of strong, no nonsense tea with lots of milk in the site hut. I don't take sugar but most builders put in enough to stand the spoon up in. The hut usually has a heater and is cosy, smells of wet clothes, wet mortar and sandwiches and has a large table with copies of my drawings on it, with scribbled notes, black finger prints and ring shaped tea stains on them. There are notices about site safety hanging up together with clusters of bunched receipts, yard tickets, cards from reps for the joinery or brick company and occasionally a saucy poster (although not so much, these days). I sit and write up my notes, to the sound of rustling newspapers, chewing and the low grumble of the builders as they moan happily about the world in general and their lot in particular.
Tea with other architects depends on the culture of that particular studio. Often it is in spartan surroundings where everything is either black or white, including the cups, which are funny shapes. The tea is a bewildering choice of fruit flavours, Lapsang Souchong, Earl Grey, organic -scraped -off -mountains -in -the -dew, Chinese Fermented or green. I usually ask for 'builders tea' and get a disgusting cup of Tetleys with dried milk, just to punish me for being so common. My more normal colleagues stick to mugs, proper milk but still, unfortunately, Tetleys. They give the posh cups to clients.
There seems to be one rule about tea in the construction industry. Never, ever interrupt the actual tea making ceremony with talk about business. This is as immovable as bedrock. The Japanese tradition? Nothing compared to this one. And remember that builders make the best tea.
14 February 2007
Noddy Housing
I was going to put a post entitled ‘The Bad….’ as part of a series about clients. I just had to put this link in, which proves my point about modern housing........
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/6339469.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/6339469.stm
13 February 2007
The Good........
My clients are all shapes and sizes; all temperaments, all colours – just like dogs, I suppose. Most of them are nice, normal people who want a good job well done, pay on time and make appreciative noises when the mess is cleared and the dust settles to reveal just what they wanted. There are one or two who have gone that extra mile to make Alice feel on a par with Frank Gehry (or Christopher Wren, for those who don’t know their architects from their elbows).
It started with a porch. When I took the phone call, I sighed inaudibly and thought of a hundred and fifty quid and a load of hassle, and no profit. But....always one to be nosy, Alice went for a look. The house was lovely – a long lawn down to a peaceful lake, a pretty house built in the 1920’s in what is known as the ‘Arts and Crafts’ style. You know the thing. All deep thatched roofs, leaded windows, mock timber framing and mellow brickwork. It would be worth doing a tiny porch just to chill out there for an hour to two. The clients were rich Londoners, and this was to be their second home.
To cut a long story short, they loved the glass porch I designed so much they asked me to reorganise the inside of the house. Then they wanted some spectacular woodwork, all especially made and fitted by the best builder in the county; a new bathroom, kitchen, extension…. The job just grew and grew. At last, after months of work and lengthy weekend meetings (they worked in London during the week) we were finished.
They were delighted. Perfection, for them, had been achieved. Mrs cooked Christmas dinner for the entire workforce of about twelve people, but did not include Alice. Huf, thought I.
Things got much better. Later in the year I was invited to dinner, along with the contracts manager* and our respective partners. We were thoroughly, utterly, totally spoilt all evening. It was wonderful!
*In most building firms, there are the blokes who do the work, recognisable by rigger boots, gut overhanging trousers, tattoos, local accent, hard hat and the constitution of a buffalo; plus those who spend a lot of time at the office or with customers – suit, specs, journalists’ pad and large shiny car. The contracts manager is one of the latter.
It started with a porch. When I took the phone call, I sighed inaudibly and thought of a hundred and fifty quid and a load of hassle, and no profit. But....always one to be nosy, Alice went for a look. The house was lovely – a long lawn down to a peaceful lake, a pretty house built in the 1920’s in what is known as the ‘Arts and Crafts’ style. You know the thing. All deep thatched roofs, leaded windows, mock timber framing and mellow brickwork. It would be worth doing a tiny porch just to chill out there for an hour to two. The clients were rich Londoners, and this was to be their second home.
To cut a long story short, they loved the glass porch I designed so much they asked me to reorganise the inside of the house. Then they wanted some spectacular woodwork, all especially made and fitted by the best builder in the county; a new bathroom, kitchen, extension…. The job just grew and grew. At last, after months of work and lengthy weekend meetings (they worked in London during the week) we were finished.
They were delighted. Perfection, for them, had been achieved. Mrs cooked Christmas dinner for the entire workforce of about twelve people, but did not include Alice. Huf, thought I.
Things got much better. Later in the year I was invited to dinner, along with the contracts manager* and our respective partners. We were thoroughly, utterly, totally spoilt all evening. It was wonderful!
*In most building firms, there are the blokes who do the work, recognisable by rigger boots, gut overhanging trousers, tattoos, local accent, hard hat and the constitution of a buffalo; plus those who spend a lot of time at the office or with customers – suit, specs, journalists’ pad and large shiny car. The contracts manager is one of the latter.
02 February 2007
What a Load a .......
Why use an architect? Aren’t they expensive! Anyone can design a house, can’t they? It’s easy! And that builder down the road is much cheaper than the one she recommended!
Most of my work involves extending, altering, converting or otherwise tarting up existing buildings. Very occasionally I get a single new house or office to design from scratch. I don’t work for the volume housebuilders who build those enormous estates everywhere, partly because they have their own in house ‘designers’ and partly because their standard of design and workmanship is appalling and I can’t stoop to that level.
Occasionally I get phone calls from someone who has bought one of these soulless boxes. ‘Can I have a loft conversion?’ asked one. I always go and see the prospective client for a look around before preparing a fee quote (and to check whether or not they have a dog or Siamese cats or mentally deranged horses - see past posts). I stuck my head through the teeny weeny loft hatch and saw the forest of angled bits of timber filling the space which is typical of the el cheapo trussed rafter method of roof construction. Despite the amount of space up there, this kind of construction is impossible to alter - you can't just cut through them, as the roof would fall in. The only way you could put a room up there would be to take the whole roof off, timber and all, and start again. Of course, the costs exceed the benefits gained, so I tell people not to bother.
Another possible client wanted an extension and ‘better use of the garden’. Impossible. The attractive curvy road of the new estate meant a wedge shaped garden, and there was simply no room to swing a (Siamese) cat, let alone put an extension in. Worse, the garage was set square with the house, and stuck out into the tiny space they had for a garden, leaving a useless wedge shaped sliver between the garage and the neighbour’s fence. This poor use of the site is what comes of having stock house designs, which they plonk in anywhere without regard to the site shape, the local area, or any sense of place at all.
These people needed an extension simply because their dining room was too small to fit a dining table seating six into, which brings me to the design.
These places usually have a great many rooms, all of them the size of gerbil cages, with an ‘en suite’ at every turn. The garage can accommodate a car, true, but you couldn’t drive into it then open the car door to get out. There is no storage of any kind, every available cupboard shaped space was filled with yet another toilet, or is misleadingly described as ‘Bedroom 3’. Yeah, right. Just try getting a bed plus a chest of drawers in there. It's one or the other.
Notice that the advertisements for these places usually have a very large photo of a thirty something couple, all coquettish smiles, toasting their good fortune with a glass of champagne, or he is fondly giving her a bunch of flowers. In the background are photographs of five or six house types with names like ‘The Granville’ and ‘The Wexford’, charmingly portrayed with flowering window boxes in full sunlight. The neighbouring houses, usually about two inches away, are carefully Photoshopped out and in their place are some nice mature trees. Of course, you can’t see the tiny rooms, the poorly designed site layout or the miniature gardens in the photos, although there will often be a boast about the sheer number of toilets just to get the juices flowing.
Back at the job that wasn't, this pinnacle of British house design, I saw just how badly it was built. The batches of bricks had not been mixed, creating a patchy effect, white salt staining and marks from the scaffold were disfiguring the walls and the mortar joints were of any width from 5mm to about 15. All the windows were plastic – No Maintenance! Screams the advert. What it does not mention is that ‘no maintenance’ means impossible to maintain. If it fractures, or discolours (as it will, in about ten years) you have to have an entire set of new windows. Why do you think Zenith and Everest do so well? If this is what I can see, I dread to think what is going on within the structure, which is often far more important but hidden.
Inside, the woodwork (or joinery, if you want the architectural term) is badly fitted, with gaps in the joints of the skirting boards, loose stair balusters, chipped architraves and general signs of shoddy workmanship poorly supervised. The selling price of one house alone would pay one of the unskilled brickies they use for about ten years. The whole thing screams CHEAP RIP OFF.
So, why use an experienced architect and a reputable, family firm of builders who have been going since great grandfather set up in the 1920’s? Er.......
Most of my work involves extending, altering, converting or otherwise tarting up existing buildings. Very occasionally I get a single new house or office to design from scratch. I don’t work for the volume housebuilders who build those enormous estates everywhere, partly because they have their own in house ‘designers’ and partly because their standard of design and workmanship is appalling and I can’t stoop to that level.
Occasionally I get phone calls from someone who has bought one of these soulless boxes. ‘Can I have a loft conversion?’ asked one. I always go and see the prospective client for a look around before preparing a fee quote (and to check whether or not they have a dog or Siamese cats or mentally deranged horses - see past posts). I stuck my head through the teeny weeny loft hatch and saw the forest of angled bits of timber filling the space which is typical of the el cheapo trussed rafter method of roof construction. Despite the amount of space up there, this kind of construction is impossible to alter - you can't just cut through them, as the roof would fall in. The only way you could put a room up there would be to take the whole roof off, timber and all, and start again. Of course, the costs exceed the benefits gained, so I tell people not to bother.
Another possible client wanted an extension and ‘better use of the garden’. Impossible. The attractive curvy road of the new estate meant a wedge shaped garden, and there was simply no room to swing a (Siamese) cat, let alone put an extension in. Worse, the garage was set square with the house, and stuck out into the tiny space they had for a garden, leaving a useless wedge shaped sliver between the garage and the neighbour’s fence. This poor use of the site is what comes of having stock house designs, which they plonk in anywhere without regard to the site shape, the local area, or any sense of place at all.
These people needed an extension simply because their dining room was too small to fit a dining table seating six into, which brings me to the design.
These places usually have a great many rooms, all of them the size of gerbil cages, with an ‘en suite’ at every turn. The garage can accommodate a car, true, but you couldn’t drive into it then open the car door to get out. There is no storage of any kind, every available cupboard shaped space was filled with yet another toilet, or is misleadingly described as ‘Bedroom 3’. Yeah, right. Just try getting a bed plus a chest of drawers in there. It's one or the other.
Notice that the advertisements for these places usually have a very large photo of a thirty something couple, all coquettish smiles, toasting their good fortune with a glass of champagne, or he is fondly giving her a bunch of flowers. In the background are photographs of five or six house types with names like ‘The Granville’ and ‘The Wexford’, charmingly portrayed with flowering window boxes in full sunlight. The neighbouring houses, usually about two inches away, are carefully Photoshopped out and in their place are some nice mature trees. Of course, you can’t see the tiny rooms, the poorly designed site layout or the miniature gardens in the photos, although there will often be a boast about the sheer number of toilets just to get the juices flowing.
Back at the job that wasn't, this pinnacle of British house design, I saw just how badly it was built. The batches of bricks had not been mixed, creating a patchy effect, white salt staining and marks from the scaffold were disfiguring the walls and the mortar joints were of any width from 5mm to about 15. All the windows were plastic – No Maintenance! Screams the advert. What it does not mention is that ‘no maintenance’ means impossible to maintain. If it fractures, or discolours (as it will, in about ten years) you have to have an entire set of new windows. Why do you think Zenith and Everest do so well? If this is what I can see, I dread to think what is going on within the structure, which is often far more important but hidden.
Inside, the woodwork (or joinery, if you want the architectural term) is badly fitted, with gaps in the joints of the skirting boards, loose stair balusters, chipped architraves and general signs of shoddy workmanship poorly supervised. The selling price of one house alone would pay one of the unskilled brickies they use for about ten years. The whole thing screams CHEAP RIP OFF.
So, why use an experienced architect and a reputable, family firm of builders who have been going since great grandfather set up in the 1920’s? Er.......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
