48 hours to final handover

So, it's the Tuesday before the final handover on Thursday, and we had an appointment to go and see the nice Huf Haus waterworks bloke.

When we arrived, we could see a little more progress on the grinds, but as there'd been a few days rain that was more than we could have hoped for. Anyways, landscapers were beavering away on the paving stones for the driveway. (sigh) And there's a story behind all this.

Actually, two stories:

The whopping big stone wall wot acts as a bastion against the few hundred tonnes of earth that's underneath our parking area had moved a wee bit, one dark and stormy night. (gulp) The landscaping boss man had noticed something not quite right, called in his troops, and basically rebuilt the wall quietly one day. Gratis, of course. However, the bloody big digger that they use for moving half tonne granite blocks about had stirred up the beautifully lain paving stones on the parking area. Soooooo, the landscaping bods were busy repaving the driveway.

And then there's the second story. It could be that our driveway might be a few centimetres too narrow to park our two cars side by side. They can definitely park sidish by sidish, which is a start. However, anyone with a bit of exposure to the sidish parking concept will instinctively know the implications: last in first out, first in last out. We'll be forever having to let each other out. Buggah. I had a go with the lads there to see if they could squeeze an extra 10cm width out of the driveway, and they agreed. However, even then there're no guarantees.

Back to the house...


So this is the nice Huf Haus water bloke that we met up with. The photo's a bit unkind 'cos it looks like he's superglued his hand to his head. Not so. He's busy negotiating or confirming something or other that Claudia asked him. What that something was will forever remain a mystery 'cos I was busy gawping at stuff.

After the clear floors, and general emptiness of the house during the laying of the parquet flooring, it was a shock to see the bloody mess was back. Well, to be fair, most of the bloody mess was protecting our expensive wood flooring from collateral damage.

Nice bloke whisked us from bathroom to bathroom; this towel rail goes here, this loo roll holder goes there... hmm, where should we have the heated towel rail thingy? And the bog brush holder (a magnificent chrome-plated affair, so far too posh to clean bogs with)? Anyways, that kind of trivial, but ultimately important final final decision stuff.

Well, choices made, and toolbox at the ready.

A bit of drilling later (while we were outside negotiating with the landscapers) and we were ready for an early water-works handover. All, of course, present and correct. Bath? Check. Shower? Check. Shower cabinet? Arrived later this week. Bog? Check. And then a tour of the underfloor heating system in rapid fire german. Fortunately, my wife's fluent. Unfortunately, my wife is incapable of remembering anything remotely technical. Fortunately, we were handed the operations manual. Unfortunately, in german. Hmm. So I'll figure it out anyway. Reading the manual's a sign of weakness, anyway.


More tours down the Keller where... oh... where did that fluorescent light comes from? All part of the Huf Haus package sir. Great, so only 44 more to put up. Anyways, a further tour of the various pipes and stopcocks, inside and outside.

Job done.

Claudia signed the paperwork (for my maximum deniability later, heh heh heh) and the waterworks bloke's nicely setup for an early trip back to Germany, one assumes. Really great bloke, I must say.

In parallel, another Huf Haus bloke was busily hanging doors on hinges and a few other bits and bobs. And the final details of our house, if we could have seen beyond the bloody mess, were coming together. Skirting boards, bezels for the various light switches and plug sockets, a strip of wood here, a bit of something else there. Yer turn a tap and water comes out. A miracle! Yer turn a knob and the electric shutters descend like something out of... of... well, out of a Huf Haus.

Hands shaken, and off we went.

Thursday's the final handover date.

Wow.

Wow.

Wow wow wowsy wow.

Capucho on interior lighting...

One of the less obvious features of yer Huf Haus concept is that the combination of wide stretches of adjoining windows, endless stretches of wooden beam, large open plan rooms, broad entrances, staircases and galleries, all takes quite some interior lighting.

Quite some lighting, indeed.

Consider those windows: leafy views during daylight hours are all very nice (actually really wonderful) but they become large black squares at night, or even worse, scary black squares. Aarrgghhhh!!! Therefore each of those beams above the windows are screaming for at least one cupped wall light every two metres or so. And even then, the vastness of (especially) the open plan downstairs living area means there'll still be a few underlit areas away from the windows. And then we have to also worry about the entrance area, central bit away from all the windows and the kitchen. And of course the bedrooms. And the bathrooms. And then we have the sweepy staircases and that whopping big 'suicide' gallery.

And finally, positioning yer posh dining table under the open gallery is all well and good, and probably a great opportunity for yer kids to throw stuff down upon the heads of dining guests. However, most of us want some lighting above the table, but the (sloping) ceiling's somewhere around eight metres above yer bonce.

An explanation of my terminology will help here: a window segment is the roughly 3m wide by 3m high square wot has a window in it. A wall segment is the equivalent, only with cement instead of glass. A roof segment is the equivalent roughly 3m by 3m square wot is above yer head. All segments are deliniated by wooden beams, so, the walls, windows and downstairs ceiling are all defined by (roughly) 3m by 3m wooden beam squares with either cement, glass or, erm, more cement in 'em.

With me so far?

Now the good news is that most of these issues will be discussed and (mainly) resolved during your Hartenfels trip. The nice Huf Haus chappy yer spend a couple of days with will devote around 2-3 hours to discuss yer electric cabling needs, and believe me, he'll be very proactive in suggestions. He needs to be, 'cos Claudia and I hadn't much of a clue.

The bad news is that, as is the norm outside of the UK, yer Huf Haus lighting facilities as delivered will amount to nothing more than a pair of twisted wires poking through a small hole. Still, might be a good idea to get at least that bit right up front, eh?

(Minor digression: these continental types sneer at the cheap plastic bulb sockets that dangle from the ceilings of almost every British household. But then again, you might still want to do it the Brit way, and good on yer for resisting the pressure. Needless to say, one's wife's a foreigner, so one's choices were somewhat limited).

What yer Huf Haus bod'll recommend will probably run along these lines:

One cable centrally up on the wooden beam above each window segment for those cupped wall lights. Very diffuse, very elegant, very Huf Haus, dontcha know. Fairly obvious downstairs, as every Huf Haus in christendom has the same solution, but less obvious upstairs in the bedrooms. Do those have one or two segments? Oo-err... turns out 3-axis and 4-axis house bedrooms have the equivalent of two. Two cables per bedroom then.

Now bear with me here, 'cos there'll be a punchline to all this...

The entrance area and kitchen needs plenty of downlight, and he'll nudge you towards a cable located right bang in the centre of each of the roof segments in that area. We went for two cables per ceiling segment in the entrance area, equally spaced, 'cos Claudia likes her spots, she does. Only one per ceiling segment in the kitchen because because, erm, just because.

The stairs need a wall light mounted left and right. They'll have to be fairly flush to the wall, though, 'cos they're positioned about elbow high. Ditto the upstairs gallery area, although they can have cupped wall lights 'cos they're up above your head. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy.

The bathroom is shaped like a bedroom, so gets the two window segment treatment, but you'll also be needing a lighting cable above or behind yer bathroom mirror. Yer can't have too much light in a bathroom. Unless hung over, or spotty, or pale. Or me.

And that dining table light? Well, we all love to have some sort of light hanging down from the ceiling, beaming a cone of muted light down upon on those wonderous culinary creations wot you and your guests are scoffing. But that huge gallery above yer head is a big problem 'cos that big light needs to dangle from something, and also needs electricity. There's no easy solution. Well there is, but few of us will want an extra wooden beam above our heads just for the damn light. The more difficult solutions fall into one of the following categories:

1. An extra wooden beam above yer... - no way!

2. Super-long cables all the way down from the sloping roof far far above your head. The downside is that if yer as much as cough near your light, then it'll swing like Foucault's Pendulum for a month of sundays. That and the impracticality of hanging yer light from a cable that weighs more than, erm, your light.

3. Use one of those super-sized cantilever floor lights, which'll reach right over yer table. Hmm, not to everyone's taste. And an object ripe for bumping into, and knocking over, after a couple of digestive brandies.

4. Some other approach.

According to Huf Haus, this always causes a few headaches so there's no prescribed solution. "Be creative", they say. Which translates to "Yer on your own, mate".

Well, in a fit of inventiveness, I went for the "some other approach" option. I reckon I might be able to use a couple of cross-wires braced left and right on the downstairs ceiling beams as both power cables and supporting points. Attach our above-table light to said cross-wires and bob's yer uncle. Hmm, at least that's the theory. Might end up looking like the cables above an electrified train line, but then again it might just look ok.

And the punchline?

Numbers, dear heart, numbers.

Our 3-axis house has a mere:

- 8 downstairs window segments (1x cupped wall light per)
- 6 bedroom window segments (1x cupped wall light per)
- 2 bathroom window segments (1x cupped wall light per)
- 2 bathroom mirrors (1x mirror light per)
- 1 Bastelraum (2x ceiling lights per)
- 3 Keller rooms (1x flourescent ceiling light per)
- 1 cubby hole room (1x ceiling light per)
- 1 downstairs loo (1x ceiling light per)
- 3 entrance area ceiling segments (2x spot lights per)
- 2 kitchen ceiling segments (1x spot light cluster per)
- 2 stair cases - down-to-Keller, up-to-bedrooms (2x flat wall lights per)
- 1 gallery area (2x cupped wall lights per)
- 1 dining table (1x dangly light per, and bloody complicated at that)

That lot comes to:

- 18 cupped wall lights
- 6 spot lights
- 4 flat wall lights
- 4 ceiling lights
- 3 fluorescent ceiling lights
- 2 mirror lights
- 2 spot light clusters
- 1 dangly dining table light

...and a partridge in a pear tree.

Count 'em. That's a grand total of 41 lights (including the partridge) to be found, paid for, wired up, and securely screwed to the wall or ceiling.

Ouch.

So, there's a logistical issue to be addressed here.

One thing's for sure, no one in their right mind's gonna choose a mixed bag of 18 totally different cupped wall light designs. Standardisation's the key here, and not only because they'll generally look better than way. The way I've presented the list above isn't the way that we carefully thought this out. Oh no. It's a sort of standardised list that we arrived at after a lot of discussion, poking about light shops, and after the realisation that we needed a lot of lights had slowly sunk in.

And then there's the cost.

The dangly dining table light's already paid for a few years back (I still shudder at the insane cost of that super-trendy italian design icon) as are the two spot light clusters for the kitchen. But the rest...

Well, if we're not too careful we'll end up spending a fortune on the rest. Not just the light units themselves, but we must also consider the installation costs... unless yer fancy wiring up around 40 lights yerself... No? Thought not. We budgeted (budgeted? Hah!) about 50 quid a pop, rising to 100 quid plus for the special stuff, i.e. the bathroom mirror lights. Roughly double that for the installation, and that gives yer a total of, erm, oooooooooh lordy, somewhere in the region of 4,000 quid.

So we slashed the per unit budget down to about 30 quid a pop... and generally found some half decent candidates. I'll have to do some of the installations myself; think fluorescents, spots and clusters, normal ceiling lights and, ahem, the dangly dining table light, in fact anything that feels generally like the sort of job that any normal bloke could do. The trickier stuff will need the services of a professional.

Who'd have thought there'd be so much to write about on interior lighting, eh? More anon regarding external lighting... (sigh)

Postscript

A detailed look over the plans this morning's turned up a few more lights...

- +4 downstairs window segments (1x cupped wall light per)
- +1 bathroom window segments (1x cupped wall light per)
- +1 keller lobby area (1x ceiling light per)

But it turns out that 'only' two of the entrance hallway ceiling segments need two spots per. One of them's due for a single spot light cluster... which costs about the same as two single spots.

(sigh)

- 23 cupped wall lights
- 4 spot lights
- 4 flat wall lights
- 5 ceiling lights
- 3 fluorescent ceiling lights
- 2 mirror lights
- 3 spot light clusters
- 1 dangly dining table light

So we're up to 45 lights, not including the poultry.

On the bright side (too jaded for puns) we've already bought ten of the cupped wall lights... that's all the Interio warehouse had on stock. Interio's a sort of Swiss Habitat, and will figure large over the next couple of months, I'm sure.

(sigh)

Capucho on flooring...

What is it about Brit tastes in flooring?

Speaking as an expat Brit (well, as British as a half-portuguese, bit-of-french bloke, married to a swiss girl, and living in Switzerland, can be) the flooring differences between Britain and the rest of Europe are easy to see: southern europeans have polished tiled floors, upon which they place one or three beautifully woven turkish carpets; northern europeans have wooden parquet floors, upon which they place either yer beautifully woven turkish carpet, or if they're a bit racier, they go for the iranian or persian options; eastern europeans have survived the post-WWII years with lino or worse, but please believe me that as soon as they catch up economically, they'll go for the polished tiles or the wooden parquet, but they'd laugh and spit on the idea of putting down fitted carpets.

And the idea of skimming and varnishing the bare floor boards, as the trendier Brit is liable to do, looks to yer continental european eye like someone forgot to order the real flooring. "Poor lambs, can't even afford lino. Maybe next year, eh..."

Tis trooooo.

Yer typical visitor to British shores find the flooring situation perplexing to the extreme. In fact the flooring situation, to foreign eyes, is trumped only by the ugly wall-mounted hot water radiators positioned just so underneath every window in the house; windows so ill-fitting that the radiator is doing a better job of heat up the exterior of the house than the interior.

One digresses, as one is wont to do.

Ok, so I'm exaggerating a bit for comic effect, but each and every one of yer knows there's a kernel of truth to the above, eh?

Now yer bog standard Huf Haus comes with the following: bathrooms, front door entrance area, and kitchen come with 'standard' ceramic floor tiles in a dozen different colours; the rest of the floors come with fitted carpets in a myriad of exciting hues. A British homemaker's dream come true then...

Hang on!

We're building a Huf Haus here, not a two and a half bedroom Barratt house. The rest of this post is not meant to be some sort of style guide, although one hopes the first few paragraphs might give one or two Brits something to think about, but one hopes the cultural background to the choices Claudia and I have made will be a little clearer.



First things first: the tiling. On our very first visit to Kindhausen (where the main Swiss Huf Haus show home's located) we fell in love with the Huf bathroom concept. That particular bathroom had lightish grey, washed effect tiles, so why would we want anything different? Well, we didn't as the photo above shows. We discussed a variety of options during our trip to Hartenfels, including bigger oblong-shaped tiles, and tiles with fancier surfaces, real stone tiles, etc etc. But in the end we realised that we'd be perfectly happy with the standard ceramic tile in the light grey, 'cos it was already a beautiful thing.

One thing to keep an eye on is the grouting colour. Golly, the details yer get dragged into, eh? Yer Huf Haus grout comes in three colours: white, black and grey. We went for grey, but believe me the overall effect of the tiles is surprisingly sensitive to the colour of the grouting, so choose carefully - Wake up at the back! This is important!

Well, that sorted out the bathroom flooring situation; and it didn't cost us one penny extra.

What we didn't need or want, however, were tiled floors in our entrance and kitchen areas. So, went for the delete option and received a 'credit' for them. Needless to say, we also didn't want carpets throughout, so we deleted them and banked the credit to spend on... what we really wanted.


Geographically, Switzerland is somewhere between southern and northern europe. A relevant point, when one is to consider whether we were to 'go parquet' or to floor tile the bloody lot of it to keep cool in the summer. Believe me the majority of this country is somewhat Germanic, and the houses have steep roofs for the snow. The western strip has a fair number of francophones (non-dialect, this being the french language after all), and the southern tip speaks italian and smoke vast quantities of cigarettes. There's a language called romatsch, a sort of degenerate latin (aren't they all, heh heh heh) that's spoken by a minority living somewhere in the alpine wilderness.

So, it doesn't take much imagination to realise that Frau Capucho was gonna want wooden parquet floors throughout, does it?

Now there's more to yer parquet flooring than meets the eye. Literally. What it ain't is a solid lump of whatever wood takes yer fancy. What it is is 3mm to 5mm of solid wood surface bonded to a 7mm to 5mm base of cheaper wood (Perhaps the unused inventory from a bankrupt match factory - looks like it). Anyways, yer parquet piece is about 1cm thick in total, and, depending on poshness, taste and, especially, cost, comes in two sizes: big pieces and small pieces. Dunno the exact measurements, but then you do need at least some scope for your own research.

Bigger pieces need a larger continuous surface of unblemished wood, which is why they cost more. But plenty of people prefer the look of the bigger pieces regardless. Tastes vary. The 5mm thick 'veneer' needs more posh wood material, so costs more... but leaves you the possibility to skim the wood once or twice over the years, as wear and tear, stiletto shoes and pogo sticks take their toll.

We went for the 5mm thick option, and (as luck would have it) preferred the look of the smaller pieces. Yer win some and yer lose some.

Question: would Sir and Madam prefer the more sophisticated finish of oiled parquet, or is your preference to slum it with the slightly cheaper, sealed finish that hardly deserves the removal of hob-nailed boots.

The right answer for us? Sealed parquet loses some of the lusture of the grain when compared to oiled, there's no doubt. But consider this: the sealed parquet is far more likely to survive the odd trampling of, well maybe not hob-nailed boots, but kid's dirty wellies. So we went for sealed, and ignored all elitist advice to the contrary. And saved a few quid to boot. Pun intended.

The next thing to consider is the laying pattern: standard plank (overlapping, like brickwork); herringbone (ziggy-zag, like yer old school's assembly hall); dutch pattern (sort of squared, would suit an old folks home); and finally ship's plank (long planks with dark calking betwixt to keep the sea water out).

Our house being somewhat above sea level, and not liking the other options, we went for the standard plank as the majority of you lot would.

That's all very well, but what about the type of wood?

Well, I'm sorry to say that almost everyone approaches the parquet question with a particular type of wood in mind. I know we did. And almost everyone's in for a rude awakening when they find that their preference is a disasterous idea due to any combination of the points below:

1. Parquet floors must above all be durable.

There's a hardness measure known as the Brinell Scale which is about as misleading as any scale I've ever come across. Cherry is rated at 30, while something like maple comes in at 35. So cherry must be about 85% as durable as maple, right? Pah! A cherry parquet floor will soon look like an ice-rink after a particularly busy weekend, while yer maple will stay fresh for years.

Red cherry was our first choice, by the way.

2. Some woods can be a bit... funny.

I've always loved the look and grain of beech, for example. But did you know that beech is notorious (in yer sophisticated parquet circles, yer understand) for bleaching when exposed to sunlight (think photo negative of a rug, for example) and, even worse, when exposed to heat. Not the sort of material to choose to put on top of underfloor heating elements, eh?

Beech is attractive, hard wearing and cheap cheap cheap, by the way. Buggah.

3. Almost all the nicer, durable parquets are expensive.

Ain't that the truth. It doesn't matter whether your thing is for light, reddish or darker woods, the end result is that almost anything suitable for you will turn out to be towards the upper end of the cost range.

What did we go for? We found an analogue for our first choice, American Red Cherry, in a tropical wood called Doussie. I hadn't heard of it either, but then I work in a bank. It's reddish, darkish (but not too dark!), durable (41 on the Brinell Scale!), and while expensive, it wasn't expensive.

The credits we got from those nice Huf Haus people in return for unwanted tiles and carpets went about half way paying for the Doussie parquet flooring throughout, including bedrooms, but I had to put my hand in the pocket for the rest. About 6,000 quid for the upgrade, and that's for one of the biggest 3-axis houses with, say, 180 square metres of parquet. A 4-axis or 5-axis house would be considerably more.

And then the sting in the tail: yer standard Huf Haus staircase comes in weapon's grade, specially treated beech wood. And each step's a solid block. Now yer know I like beech, but one thing beech ain't is... doussie. Therefore, we had to upgrade the stairs to match the parquet, which came to... another 6,000 quid. Ok, so we doubled up 'cos we have two staircases: one up to the bedrooms; and t'other down to the Keller.

So, 12 thousand quid in total for the doussie parquet upgrade throughout.

Yep, life's an expensive bitch.


Still, it'll be nice when it's done.

Last Friday's visit was specifically to see our new parquet. When we arrived the upstairs had been completed, apart from a few trimmings, and the two Huf Haus people were just beginning the downstairs. They should finish the lot, trimmings and all, this week.

And...?

Well, Claudia and I were simply bowled over with the doussie parquet. It's everything that we'd ever wanted (in the end, 'cos we twisted and turned a few times). As we'd continually reminded ourselves during the process, yer Huf Haus has so much natural daylight coming at yer, that you're not restricted by anything but your personal tastes and depth of pocket when it comes to the colour.

We got what we wanted; and more.

Bathroom tiling and more landscaping

Another week closer to the handover, and another week's worth of progress.

On arrival, we couldn't help but see yet another fundamental leap forward in the landscaping. It had snowed last Monday, so we'd really hoped for little or no progress. But, in keeping with the weird winter we've had, the snow had pretty much melted away by Wednesday, so the landscapers had clearly resumed.


The parking area has (finally) been correctly levelled, shored up both uphill and downhill, and there'd even been a little progress on the paving stones. About a third of 'em are down, and the rest are on pallets sat on (ahem) our neighbour's land. If the weather holds (a big if) then we can expect the rest to be down by the end of next week, and maybe even the various trimmings done, such as edging stones and whatnot.

As usual, I mentally turned my car into the driveway, and found plenty of (mental) space for the swing in. Reassuring Claudia will remain a chronic task, one thinks, perhaps ending a few weeks after we've moved in. I've seen (and driven into) plenty of tighter driveways over the years, so I reckon after a few hiccups we'll be feeling our way in and out with nary a thought.

Inside the house, we raced to the downstairs bathroom, right next to the front door, to see the results of the tiling...


...and we were very very happy indeed. The light grey tiles had been a significant point of discussion during out Hartenfels trip (only nine months ago, wow!) so the overall effect was, well, both reassuring and simply great. The shower base had been installed, and short of the loo and shower cabinet, the general outlines of the downstairs bathroom are now there. If yer squint yer eyes, that is. Hmm, might be better to close them entirely.

But it was the upstairs bathroom that blew us away.


Bath pedestal, shower base, boxy thing where the sink's will go, all present and correct. Again, the loo and shower cabinet were absent, but the overall shape and spaciousness of the bathroom was quite simply great. When you're in the middle of a building project, surrounded with mud, concrete dust, wires coming out of the walls, and Lord Knows what else, it's easy to forget the reason for all this: we're here to build a beautiful house, with beautiful bathrooms, and a beautiful (meaning bloody expensive) kitchen. The progress in the bathroom was a welcome taste of, erm, taste to come.


Lastly, as we left, we spotted the The Mystery Box mounted on the exterior wall of the kitchen. Does anyone out there have any ideas as to its purpose? We're at a complete loss...

Next week, the parquet flooring work begins according to the schedule. It'll need two weeks of nailing down, which makes me wonder. Is that one week preparation followed by a week of yer actual fact bonding of wood to floor? Or will we be seeing some parquet during next weekend's progress trip?

Stay tuned, folks!

Progress inside and outside

Claudia and I've just returned from an ad-hoc trip to see the new house. It's Friday lunchtime, and that's often a good time to have a butchers, as the Huf Haus people have usually wrapped up and returned to Hartenfels for the weekend, so we get the run of the house without feeling like we're, erm, intruding on their patch.

The first thing we noticed when walking down the road is that the bloody big digger has gone. As had the majority of the dirt pile, although a little remains, presumably as raw material for further landscaping. The landscaping people were at lunch, but they'd done some extra work on the driveway, which was looking flatter, wider, and generally more viable. Good. Some extra stone blocks had appeared to shore up the land here and there, plus a few other bits and bobs.


But it was on the 'concealed' side of the house where the majority of the landscaping'd been done, and what a dramatic difference. The nasty blue plastic sheeting that'd protected the hillside throughout the excavations had been gathered up, and the sloping hill that had been underneath generally smoothed, graded, and whatever else. Already a great start. Also the slot through which daylight is supposed to channel its way through to the two Bastelraum windows in the Keller had been shored up and landscaped in. Not perfect, but very very promising. More anon on that.

All in all, great landscaping progress. Remember that buggah all had happened outside the house for two months while we jumped through the various hoops that both the local Gemeinde and the neighbour were continually forcing upon us.


And the house itself?

Well, the interior decorating's finished and looking... perfect. Unblemished. The bathroom tiling's not been started as yet, but all plastered and wooden surfaces have been painted white white white. Looking back, it took about a month for the newly raised house interior to transform from soggy concrete hole to dry unplastered hole. And then just another month has transformed it again into a beautifully painted interior that, flooring and final cleaning aside, is looking... ready. Really a very satisfying feeling. It'll all get another boost once the parkett flooring goes down, and the bits of plastic and cardboard cladding gets ripped off the stairways.


And also great news down in the Keller. After month upon month of uncertainty as to the viability of the Bastelraum due to low light levels, today was a real eye-opener; an overcast day, yet quite some light down there via the newly landscaped slot and hillside outside. I think I'm about to stop worrying about it. Maybe not, but I'll definitely tone it down.

The few outside walls that remain between the long expanses of glass have also been painted nicely.

And what's planned for next week? Well, we expect the main action to take place in the bathrooms: tiling; plumbing; shower in this corner, bath over there. That sort of thing. It may well be that the electrical people get to wire up the various sockets and switches that remain uncovered throughout the house, which would also be a nice boost. The project protocol doesn't have much detail, so I guess it'll all come as a nice surprise.

Today's the end of Week 5 of 2007. Four more weeks to go, and then (drum roll) it'll be the official Huf Haus Handover at the end of Week 9, 2nd March. Only then can our local kitchen supplier be allowed on site to nail in our kitchen (The Leicht brand, plus electronics by Seimens, Mr Salmon), and in parallel, the local bathroom supplier can plumb the decidedly non-Huf sink unit and mirror (all by a Swiss company called 4B, and too bloody expensive) into the main bathroom. And then we're done. By the end of Week 11, March 16th, the house will be ready. Might even be earlier, but one prefers to plan around certainty, not hope.

The Plan is that we move in on Tuesday, 20th March. That'll give us plenty time to clear up our current house, (rented off a world famous opera singer, I kid you not. Sadly, it's true what they say about divas...), redecorate here and there, and have the old house all wrapped up and keys handed back by the end of March. Job done. And likewise, the intention is that we're properly moved into our Huf Haus, and things are tidy and civilised within a week or so. No living out of boxes. The actual move is literally from one side of the Zurich lake to t'other, so it's not like we've got a Really Big Move on our hands. It's just that a family of four, including two wee toddlers, has a surprising amount of stuff and a good proportion of that stuff must be in good working order, otherwise family life will simply go into melt-down.

It's not the end of the project, not quite yet. But we can at least see the finishing wire from here.