It was just a small project, the addition of the world’s tiniest bathroom to a cottage in the backyard. But when it comes to home renovation, nothing is small, and nothing is simple. Here’s what you need to know to survive the onslaught.
Building is a bit like childbirth. You forget about the pain if you wait long enough. And then you do it again, and you wonder, “What on earth was I thinking?”
That’s where I am right now. Because it was supposed to be a small build, you see: converting a single garage into a dedicated office for me just involved a ceiling, a screed on the floor and a sliding door to replace the roll-down garage door.
In the little cottage in my backyard, all that was required was the addition of the world’s tiniest bathroom – a shower, a toilet, a small basin – and some plumbing so I could add a kitchen sink.
I just wanted a room of my own, where I could work and play my guitar and write songs, and I wanted the cottage to double as a guest room as well as something I could put on Airbnb. That way, I figured, I’d have a house that worked for me, and I’d increase the value of my house over the longer term.
“Just some tiny alterations,” I thought… Ha. Seven weeks later, it’s still not finished. The snag list is growing. And my mood plummets at the mere contemplation of seeing my builder’s cheery smile at 7am every week day.
Look, it hasn’t all been bad – he has arrived when he said he would, or called if he was going to be delayed. In builder terms, that’s a bloody miracle. And he did help me with one or two odd jobs that required no more than a handy person with the right equipment – equipment I just didn’t have.
But he seems to come with a lot of drama. Last time he worked for us, the drama was spectacular, and my teenage daughter (who’s often more sensible than I am) keeps saying, “I don’t know why you got him again, Mom…” She has a point, but I’m in the ‘Better The Devil You Know’ camp.
So, with the hope that I might spare you some pain in the future, here are some lessons I’ve learnt along the way.
First, be very budget savvy. In fact, I’d advise that you plan for the total cost of the build to total 150% of what you are quoted. Because there are things that will happen that no-one could have predicted. In my case, digging up the plumbing pipes to connect the new mini-bathroom revealed that all of the grey water from the house – that’s the bath, shower, basins, kitchen sink and washing machine – was running straight into the ground. That required some extra labour and parts to sort the issue out, and it was well worth doing to prevent major problems in years to come.
Also, we didn’t account for the fact the old garage/new office floor would have to be raised slightly to be flush with the sliding door – an essential as I’m terminally clumsy and I’d have tripped over that sliding door track 50 times a day. Again, that meant extra materials and labour, but I think it’s worth it in the long run.
Then there are all the other extras once the building is done – I’d forgotten to account for things like burglar bars, curtain rails, towel rails, a mirror, one or two pieces of furniture, and so on. Those things add up very quickly.
Second, be very money savvy – never, ever settle the bill completely until you are 100% happy. I learnt this on previous projects – nothing gets snags sorted out like a builder who hasn’t received his final payment.
Also, watch out for small instances of sloppiness – I found tile spacers left between the tiles and simply grouted in, for example. Plaster will get splashed into the wrong place; it’s inevitable – but if it’s cleaned up immediately, it’s not an issue. You will have to point it out, or it won’t be cleaned up.
I also should have paid attention when I asked how long the build would take, and didn’t get an answer. Insist on an answer, lay down realistic deadlines, and tie any progress payments to those deadlines. Money is a great motivator, believe me. But also, plan for the build to take at least twice as long as your builder estimates, not only because there are unforeseen hitches, but because builders seem to be pathologically incapable of estimating time frames with even a modicum of accuracy.
Then, remove anything you don’t want to have inadvertently incorporated into the build. Put it far away, completely out of sight. My watering can is covered in paint and plaster. My wheelbarrow was seconded, and so was my ladder. And the builders’ workers have no respect for your once gleaming equipment – everything succumbs to the mess.
Finally, be prepared for a mess – sand, plaster and rubble – and of course, the dust. Somehow there is an endless supply of fine dust that seems to continue to appear out of nowhere for weeks and weeks. Even when the room is completed and the angle grinders have moved to another site, the feather duster will remain your best friend. Because no matter what you do, that dust gets inside and behind and underneath things, and you keep discovering new places it’s infiltrated.
You just have to face up to the fact that you will be dusting for the foreseeable future, and keep the tissue box nearby for the inevitable sneezing that follows. A-tishoo!
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