(Ahem)
Last time we talked, we were well and truly moved in. Most of the lights, and, I think, blinds were up (yawn). Boxes emptied, kitchen and bathrooms fettled, wardrobes erected, larder full of food, cellar full of wine. Indeed, a myriad things had been done that help to make the house habitable. I'll add a few more recent points to the above list, and then get down to external business:
One of the idiosyncracies of living in a Huf Haus is that there're few flat walls to put bookshelves, wardrobes or any other cupboardy thing against. Our 3-axis house is a typical case, as just about every downstairs wall is made of glass. And then each of the bedrooms has just one 'normal' wall, and that's yer lot. They also offer a triangular-shaped wall 'cos of the slopey roof, which would be great if Ikea started manufacturing triangular-shaped cupboards. So our storage furniture options are somewhat limited. Claudia and I've been scratching our heads to find 'creative' ways of solving this or that storage problem in this or that room.
You would do, too, if it happened to you. As the song goes.
Now don't get me wrong here, we're not dealing with converted lighthouse or windmill levels of problem, but it does need some thinking about. We found a big white shelving unit for the kids room in Ikea, and some chromium-plated metal shelves for the nooks and crannies in the bathrooms. Existing wardrobes from our previous house swallowed up two of the available bedrooms walls. The bugger is what we're going to do in the living room. The cellar's a long way to go to find a CD. Ah well...
The last of the one zillion lights went up last weekend. These were the two long flourescent strips for the cellars, and both went up fairly easily. After forty odd lights I'm getting quite the dab hand at this. No more electrocutions, so I reckon I got off lightly; you might want to budget for taxis to the hospital when it comes to your own project. I also put up the five external lights a couple of weeks ago, so I no longer need braille when unlocking the front door late at night. One bit of good fortune is that we won't be needing those automatic security lights for our parking area after all. It turns out that next door's security lights're of Colditz specification: hyper-sensitive and hyper-bright. All we need is the barbed wire, sirens, machine guns and guard dogs. Anyways, job's a good un, 'cos a mouse coughing on our parking area would set 'em off.
Curtains and blinds're up... (yawn)... and the cellars're a chaotic mess. So we're pretty much back to normal, then.
So, onwards to the Outside.
If you recall, the landscapers did a good job of levelling the various bits of land, so that while it was still looking a bit, erm, bare, it was at least looking less like the Second Battle of the Somme. Cheapo concrete slabs were put down under what will soon be our wooden decking terrace, and boy have those slabs served us well. Our wee lads have had a ball throwing loose dirt, big and small stones, soil and sand all over the place, so those slabs at least gave us an area that could be swept clean of fallout. Something to consider when you've got small kids: a newly built house offers endless amounts of ammo to chuck at each other/the papa/the nearest windows.
A couple of weeks ago, the Bodendecke (literally, groundcover) plants were put into the steeper bits of hillside. These actually have a structural duty to perform as they'll be holding the hillside up come the monsoon season, so they're much more than a pretty face. A few more areas need the Bodendecke treatment, and there's still lots of soil around each of the plants, but for now it's a relief to see at least some sort of green. Sometime next year we should see the plants merge into each other, and any fool-hardy weeds strangled to a miserable death.
The 'safety' hedge has been planted up along the parking area. Dunno what type it is, but it's not a privet. The hedge already offers a bit of mental security, as the three metre drop doesn't seem quite so bad when there're a few plants between you and it. It is as bad, it just doesn't seem to be. Again, these'll take a couple of years to thicken up, but for now they'll do nicely.
And finally finally finally, the grass seeds have gone down. More or less at the same time the farmer reseeded his field (if you remember, our soil mountain sat on it for four months). I spent many an evening watering the 'lawns', and also chucked some water on the field to inspire the farmer's seeds to action. Then late last week the weather finally broke, and the rains descended on us big time. By yesterday lots of thin little grass shoots started, erm, shooting up everywhere. We're a couple of months from having a lawn (and field) we can walk on, but at least it's on its way.
And on Friday/Saturday the landscaping chap will come again, only this time he'll be building our wooden sun deck. Just when I'd become used to sweeping the concrete slabs. Anyways, Claudia's all excited and I must say I'm also very curious to see how it looks. Just about every other bit of gardening on that side of the house's on hold until this thing's built, simply as the geometry of the garden'll change drastically. Hard to explain, and I won't even try. This is what yer get when yer write yer blog using the 'stream of consciousness' method; painted into visualisation corners. Anyway, once it's there we'll know where to put various bushes, big pots, the parasol, etc.
Oo oo! The parasol! Lots of recent discussion with regards to the parasol. Absolutely imperative at 730m amsl, 'cos the sky's very very clear. Often turquoise clear, which is a nice problem to have. We have to wear sunglasses inside our house, so yer can imagine how bright it gets out on the sundeck-to-be. One of the things we've found is that our spot can get very windy, in a sort of no-wind to gusty-blast sort of way. To put this into context, we're talking wanky Swiss wind here. Proper Manchester wind would laugh and point at weedy Swiss wind, but it nevertheless deserves a bit of respect when it comes to parasols; 'cos gusts and parasols don't mix well in my experience.
Anyways, we've found a sort of cantilever design that's supposed to be far more resilient to gusts, 'cos the umbrella bit just wobbles about on the universal top joint, thereby spilling the wind. One shall continue one's researches and then revert, but it looks very very promising. They have similar ones at an outside restaurant near where I work, and I recently had lunch there in a wind that was blowing the beer glasses off the table. Parasols just shrugged it off. Very neat.
There's also a cool 'new' system that looks rather like a horizontal yacht sail, and in fact is called a Sonnensegel (sunsail). This is typically a whopping big triangle of thick fabric that's anchored to yer house on two corners, and then yer bolt the spare corner to a very secure pole wot yer plant in yer garden.
I do hope I'm not being too technical.
Now this Sonnensegel concept has some possibilities as a parasol surrogate, although the cantilevered design's looking favorate at the mo' 'cos it can be swung in an arc to track the sun as necessary. However, the Sonnensegel people also do a super-dooper-thick-weather-proof-all-year-round-and-supports-rain-and-snow version. And it's this that I've got in mind for our carport.
Gasp!
Yes indeed. If I'm right, we'll end up with the coolest carport in Switzerland, at, erm, half the price of a real one. And believe me, we need to save a few quid right now. Again, will continue the investigations and then revert.
And the plants and stuff themselves?
Well, as stated earlier we've not committing until we see the sundeck in all its glory. The idea is that we have some japanesy-looking trees (red and green pygmy maples) here and there, plus the odd pampas grass thingy. We also fancy some bamboos for that cool oriental look, but've been advised that they'll rapidly colonise the rest of our garden, then the village, and then the entire mainland of Western Europe. Within weeks. Anyway, if there's a way of growing bamboo in big pots, then we'll probably go for it.
Elsewhere, we're plotting big and small ferns for the base of our retaining wall. Cool and shady there, so it'll likely be the practical solution anyway. Also fancy a patch of hostas, and think I have just the place for 'em.
What else? Ahh... the watering system. We bought one of those Gardena wheel things for the hosepipe on one side of the house. I also fancied their new system with an enclosed reel and have mounted it on t'other. Works very well. I toyed with the idea of installing an underground watering system (actually fairly affordable, if not exactly cheap) but have put that project on hold due to (a) the cost and (b) because I couldn't be arsed to tackle it just now. Two hosepipes'll have to do for the time being.
And finally... the garden shed.
There ain't one. Tools are either resting on the ground, against the house, or in the cellar. And there's no logical place for a shed, either. The 'hidden' side of the house has a rash of air-vents, heating vents and skylights along the ground which means there's no shed-sized area available. The only solution that offers itself is to cut a shed-sized step into the sloping hillside, shore up the sides with concrete slabs, and then half-submerge the shed like some military bunker. Needless to say, Claudia is less than enthusiastic, and my heart sinks just thinking about it. But the lack of a shed is already a pain in the harris, so once we actually have a garden it'll become impossible. It's not like we even have a garage to shove our gardening stuff into like wot other people do.
Showing posts with label hufhaus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hufhaus. Show all posts
Monday, May 07, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Typical Huf Haus costs
Well, I've been putting it off for months, but the time's finally come for me to spell out the costs involved in building a Huf Haus... well, building our three axis version anyway.
It's probably not escaped yer notice that our house hasn't been built in Blighty, and as Switzerland's not in the EU, and thus not an Euro nation, that our costs are a mixture of Euros and Swiss Francs. Not a Pound Sterling to be seen anywhere. But that doesn't mean we can't come up with a useful way of breaking the costs down.
Ok, here they are, warts and all...
Yes, it's quite scary isn't it. Better sit down for a while, if you haven't already.
Feeling better now? Right, so what does this mean for your dream Huf Haus project?
I purposely split the costs into the above categories 'cos I reckon the external costs are more or less proportional to the size of the land, and the Huf Haus and internal costs are proportional to the size of the house. Now our land is 660 square metres, and the internal floor area comes to 240 square metres.
Ok, so we finally have some per square metre projections. But isn't every country different? And what about variations in land prices? Well, I honestly think that the internal costs are pretty much the same across Europe. Huf Haus will charge you in Euros, and assuming you don't go too crazy with non-Huf internals, even variations in VAT or whatever won't make too much difference. The land prices are another story though, hence I've given 'em their own sub-total.
An example... you have in mind a 1,500m² plot which is up for grabs for £300,000 (Ha! You wish!). How much would it cost to shove a 350m² 5-axis Huf Haus palace on the top of it?
Lemme see, the land cost itself is already known at £300,000. So the external costs will come in at 1,500m² x £223 which comes to, erm, £334,500 externally. And then we have the Huf Haus itself plus internal specials, which comes to 350m² x £1,517 = £530,950. Add the land price, external and internal costs together, and we come to a grand total of £1,165,450.
Eek!
So, have fun calculating... and can a few existing owners let me know if the above calculations tie in with your own experiences?
It's probably not escaped yer notice that our house hasn't been built in Blighty, and as Switzerland's not in the EU, and thus not an Euro nation, that our costs are a mixture of Euros and Swiss Francs. Not a Pound Sterling to be seen anywhere. But that doesn't mean we can't come up with a useful way of breaking the costs down.
Ok, here they are, warts and all...
| GBP(£) | EUR(€) | CHF(CHF) | |
|---|---|---|---|
| Building land 660m2 | £168,708 | €248.513 | CHF408'000 |
| Architect | 7,236 | 10.659 | 17'500 |
| Excavations, water, etc | 68,228 | 100.502 | 165'000 |
| Local services | 21,502 | 31.673 | 52'000 |
| Project costs sub-total | £96,966 | €142.834 | CHF234'500 |
| General landscaping | 33,080 | 48,728 | 80'000 |
| Gardening | 2,068 | 3.046 | 5'000 |
| Wooden decking | 7,443 | 10.964 | 18'000 |
| Car port | 8,270 | 12.182 | 20'000 |
| Landscaping sub-total | £50,861 | €74.919 | CHF123'000 |
| Huf Haus 3.09.30 | 238,882 | 351.866 | 577'729 |
| House extras | 38,064 | 56.067 | 92'056 |
| Standard cellar | 53,746 | 79.167 | 129'984 |
| Cellar extras | 1,383 | 2.037 | 3'345 |
| Insurance | 930 | 1.370 | 2'249 |
| Huf Haus costs sub-total | £333,005 | €490.507 | CHF805'363 |
| Heating system | 9,511 | 14.009 | 23'000 |
| Kitchen | 16,127 | 23.755 | 39'000 |
| Bathroom extras | 4,549 | 6.700 | 11'000 |
| Lights | 827 | 1.218 | 2'000 |
| Non-Huf internal costs sub-total | £31,013 | €45.683 | CHF75'000 |
| Grand total | £680,552 | €1.002.456 | CHF1'645'863 |
Yes, it's quite scary isn't it. Better sit down for a while, if you haven't already.
Feeling better now? Right, so what does this mean for your dream Huf Haus project?
I purposely split the costs into the above categories 'cos I reckon the external costs are more or less proportional to the size of the land, and the Huf Haus and internal costs are proportional to the size of the house. Now our land is 660 square metres, and the internal floor area comes to 240 square metres.
| Land costs/m² (660m²) | £255 | €376 | CHF618 |
|---|---|---|---|
| Project costs | 146 | 216 | 355 |
| Landscaping | 77 | 114 | 186 |
| External costs/m² (660m²) | £223 | €330 | CHF541 |
| Huf Haus costs | 1,388 | 2.044 | 3'356 |
| Non-Huf internal | 129 | 190 | 313 |
| Internal costs/m² (240m²) | £1,517 | €2,234 | CHF3,668 |
Ok, so we finally have some per square metre projections. But isn't every country different? And what about variations in land prices? Well, I honestly think that the internal costs are pretty much the same across Europe. Huf Haus will charge you in Euros, and assuming you don't go too crazy with non-Huf internals, even variations in VAT or whatever won't make too much difference. The land prices are another story though, hence I've given 'em their own sub-total.
An example... you have in mind a 1,500m² plot which is up for grabs for £300,000 (Ha! You wish!). How much would it cost to shove a 350m² 5-axis Huf Haus palace on the top of it?
Lemme see, the land cost itself is already known at £300,000. So the external costs will come in at 1,500m² x £223 which comes to, erm, £334,500 externally. And then we have the Huf Haus itself plus internal specials, which comes to 350m² x £1,517 = £530,950. Add the land price, external and internal costs together, and we come to a grand total of £1,165,450.
Eek!
So, have fun calculating... and can a few existing owners let me know if the above calculations tie in with your own experiences?
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Almost shipshape
Most of the rooms are now looking a little less like a refugee camp.
The mayhem lasted a few days, but, by close of day Sunday, we had our bedrooms, bathrooms, snug, kitchen and HUGE living room reasonably functional. Even the infamous Bastelraum and Weinkeller are roughly as they'll be, although we have a long way to go. The guest bedroom'll be done this evening on a just-in-time basis; it's Claudia's birthday tomorrow, so her mother's coming to babysit while we go out scoffing fine food and quaffing wine.
Ooerr, I still haven't thought of anything to buy her.
The main Keller's still a disaster area of regional importance. As we're short of a garden shed, there're all sorts of outdoorsy stuff here and there, including our garden furniture. Plus two adulthood's worth of 'valuable' but unused-for-donkey's-years crap that we really should either sell or scrap. Box after box after box of it.
Now what really gets me is the way that removals people the world over think. Or don't think. Or maybe they do, but their sadistic sides get the better of 'em.
Imagine four or five removal blokes walking into our Keller, all bearing identically sized boxes. Identical in every respect, with the logo of their company on the sides. Stack 'em good, right? Well, the first seems incapable of placing his box against a wall, and the rest are equally incapable of putting their boxes upon a box that's already there and waiting for them. Result? They drop their boxes all over the place according to some random dispersion pattern that'd baffle a Chaos theoretician. The next batch of boxes then arrives, and are likewise scattered about the place... but wait! Wait! Look over there, that bloke's actually putting a box upon another one... oh... oh no... no no no.
He has of course placed the box rotated roughly 50 degrees to the previous box, and offset enough that it's centre-of-gravity's somewhere over the edge. As the bloke turns his back, it slowly tilts and then slides off until one corner touches the floor. It's progress is then halted by a garden rake that's lying on the Keller floor, a perfect setting for a slapstick routine. The rake's about three feet from a corner that even the most idiotic person I've ever met (you wouldn't know who you are) would recognise as a prime location for gardening tools.
Hmm, another chap's getting very close to the rake. Will he? Will he? Heh heh heh... go on, it's only divine justice... Oh bugger, he's dropped his box directly onto the rake's tines (crunch at they break through the cardboard, hopefully nothing broken inside). Booby-trap safely deactivated by a mixture of apathy, incompetence and Mister Magoo levels of good fortune.
Disaster avoided, the chucking in of boxes and stuff continues, and the colour of the Keller floor becomes a distant memory. It's now looking like a squatter's township as almost nothing's higher than a single storey. Progress slows as it takes quite some fancy footwork to navigate across the Keller...
(sigh)
Onto happier subjects...
The lights situation? I put a couple more up in the kitchen this weekend, so that's a total of... oh lordy I've lost count. A good few dozen done with my own fair hands. No further electrocutions, so I think I'm getting the hang of it.
There're two more utility lights to go up in the Kellers, but the nice Huf Haus people don't bring those until Thursday. And we've finally found a decent design to be nailed onto the outside walls of the house, so we'll be ordering five of 'em. At least I think I counted five sets of cables out there. Must check later today. Oh, and we've decided on bathroom mirror's with integrated lights, so I think they sort of count, so two more.
The light's at the end of the tunnel (sad pun intentional).
The kitchen's 99% finished. We're waiting on a piece of glass for the splash back that couldn't be ordered until the last moment. Accurate measurements, dontchaknow.
What else?
The shower cabinet arrives by Huf Haus on Thursday, so we'll be able to bring our main bathroom up to scratch. The blinds are likewise up on that side of the house, we'll be able to use the main bathroom without a show. I'll be able to chuck Claudia's bathroom stuff out of my downstairs bathroom and then it'll be mine, all mine. Mine! Hah hah hah...
Curtain rails are up throughout, but out of action 'cos the curtains guy needs to come back and cut notches here and there so we can thread on the slidey things. For now we're surviving with the blinds on the upstairs side that faces the neighbours. T'other side's uncurtained for now, but then there's nothing out there but rolling hills and the odd farmhouse in the distance. Downstairs we have the outside electric shutters. It'll all look better when we've got proper curtains, but for now we're functional.
And why no photos?
'Cos we're waiting for the electrician to come and conect up the phone and TV cables. Until then, no internet access from home. And that means no way of posting up photos for a little longer. Should be up and going by next weekend, but we'll see.
Needless to say, we're ecstatic about our house.
The mayhem lasted a few days, but, by close of day Sunday, we had our bedrooms, bathrooms, snug, kitchen and HUGE living room reasonably functional. Even the infamous Bastelraum and Weinkeller are roughly as they'll be, although we have a long way to go. The guest bedroom'll be done this evening on a just-in-time basis; it's Claudia's birthday tomorrow, so her mother's coming to babysit while we go out scoffing fine food and quaffing wine.
Ooerr, I still haven't thought of anything to buy her.
The main Keller's still a disaster area of regional importance. As we're short of a garden shed, there're all sorts of outdoorsy stuff here and there, including our garden furniture. Plus two adulthood's worth of 'valuable' but unused-for-donkey's-years crap that we really should either sell or scrap. Box after box after box of it.
Now what really gets me is the way that removals people the world over think. Or don't think. Or maybe they do, but their sadistic sides get the better of 'em.
Imagine four or five removal blokes walking into our Keller, all bearing identically sized boxes. Identical in every respect, with the logo of their company on the sides. Stack 'em good, right? Well, the first seems incapable of placing his box against a wall, and the rest are equally incapable of putting their boxes upon a box that's already there and waiting for them. Result? They drop their boxes all over the place according to some random dispersion pattern that'd baffle a Chaos theoretician. The next batch of boxes then arrives, and are likewise scattered about the place... but wait! Wait! Look over there, that bloke's actually putting a box upon another one... oh... oh no... no no no.
He has of course placed the box rotated roughly 50 degrees to the previous box, and offset enough that it's centre-of-gravity's somewhere over the edge. As the bloke turns his back, it slowly tilts and then slides off until one corner touches the floor. It's progress is then halted by a garden rake that's lying on the Keller floor, a perfect setting for a slapstick routine. The rake's about three feet from a corner that even the most idiotic person I've ever met (you wouldn't know who you are) would recognise as a prime location for gardening tools.
Hmm, another chap's getting very close to the rake. Will he? Will he? Heh heh heh... go on, it's only divine justice... Oh bugger, he's dropped his box directly onto the rake's tines (crunch at they break through the cardboard, hopefully nothing broken inside). Booby-trap safely deactivated by a mixture of apathy, incompetence and Mister Magoo levels of good fortune.
Disaster avoided, the chucking in of boxes and stuff continues, and the colour of the Keller floor becomes a distant memory. It's now looking like a squatter's township as almost nothing's higher than a single storey. Progress slows as it takes quite some fancy footwork to navigate across the Keller...
(sigh)
Onto happier subjects...
The lights situation? I put a couple more up in the kitchen this weekend, so that's a total of... oh lordy I've lost count. A good few dozen done with my own fair hands. No further electrocutions, so I think I'm getting the hang of it.
There're two more utility lights to go up in the Kellers, but the nice Huf Haus people don't bring those until Thursday. And we've finally found a decent design to be nailed onto the outside walls of the house, so we'll be ordering five of 'em. At least I think I counted five sets of cables out there. Must check later today. Oh, and we've decided on bathroom mirror's with integrated lights, so I think they sort of count, so two more.
The light's at the end of the tunnel (sad pun intentional).
The kitchen's 99% finished. We're waiting on a piece of glass for the splash back that couldn't be ordered until the last moment. Accurate measurements, dontchaknow.
What else?
The shower cabinet arrives by Huf Haus on Thursday, so we'll be able to bring our main bathroom up to scratch. The blinds are likewise up on that side of the house, we'll be able to use the main bathroom without a show. I'll be able to chuck Claudia's bathroom stuff out of my downstairs bathroom and then it'll be mine, all mine. Mine! Hah hah hah...
Curtain rails are up throughout, but out of action 'cos the curtains guy needs to come back and cut notches here and there so we can thread on the slidey things. For now we're surviving with the blinds on the upstairs side that faces the neighbours. T'other side's uncurtained for now, but then there's nothing out there but rolling hills and the odd farmhouse in the distance. Downstairs we have the outside electric shutters. It'll all look better when we've got proper curtains, but for now we're functional.
And why no photos?
'Cos we're waiting for the electrician to come and conect up the phone and TV cables. Until then, no internet access from home. And that means no way of posting up photos for a little longer. Should be up and going by next weekend, but we'll see.
Needless to say, we're ecstatic about our house.
Friday, March 23, 2007
We're in!
We moved in on Tuesday.
Five words summarises the whole thing, but as always the story was a bit more complicated than that.
You should know is that during the first official days of spring we were inundated with a full winter's worth of snow. The flakes started to descend on us on Monday evening, as we finalised the packing, then intensified during the night. By Tuesday morning, there was a respectable blanket covering most of Switzerland.
Ooerr.
Still, could have been worse. Oh hang on, it was worse. Because our old house is at a far lower alititude than the new one, (by about 300 metres, or a thousand feet), so if it was inconvenient at one end, it was going to be a bloody nightmare at the other. Lots of worried glances out of the window on Monday night and Tuesday morning. Lots of mental plans to defer the move a day or so, or to at least figure out where I could steal a snowplough. Or a husky.
Only... it seemed to go alright.
The chaps turned up about an hour late ("Snow chaos across Kanton Zurich"); filled their wagons in more or less the time they said they would; drove over to the new house; unloaded and were away before yer could say Bob's yer uncle.
By Tuesday evening the house still looked a bloody mess, boxes and unbuilt furniture everywhere, but at least our bedroom was intact enough to sleep in. Kids remained with Claudia's parents.
As we're a tad short on the curtain front, that night we had an open view from our bed out of our bedroom window (floor to ceiling, if you recall) right across the rolling farmlands. Fluffy snow lay everywhere, and the weather cleared enough so that the visibility was crystal. The few farm houses out there were still lit up, presumably as them Swiss country folks were still feeding their goats or something. Each light gave a glow to the surrounding snow. Little pools of light.
Magical.
Five words summarises the whole thing, but as always the story was a bit more complicated than that.
You should know is that during the first official days of spring we were inundated with a full winter's worth of snow. The flakes started to descend on us on Monday evening, as we finalised the packing, then intensified during the night. By Tuesday morning, there was a respectable blanket covering most of Switzerland.
Ooerr.
Still, could have been worse. Oh hang on, it was worse. Because our old house is at a far lower alititude than the new one, (by about 300 metres, or a thousand feet), so if it was inconvenient at one end, it was going to be a bloody nightmare at the other. Lots of worried glances out of the window on Monday night and Tuesday morning. Lots of mental plans to defer the move a day or so, or to at least figure out where I could steal a snowplough. Or a husky.
Only... it seemed to go alright.
The chaps turned up about an hour late ("Snow chaos across Kanton Zurich"); filled their wagons in more or less the time they said they would; drove over to the new house; unloaded and were away before yer could say Bob's yer uncle.
By Tuesday evening the house still looked a bloody mess, boxes and unbuilt furniture everywhere, but at least our bedroom was intact enough to sleep in. Kids remained with Claudia's parents.
As we're a tad short on the curtain front, that night we had an open view from our bed out of our bedroom window (floor to ceiling, if you recall) right across the rolling farmlands. Fluffy snow lay everywhere, and the weather cleared enough so that the visibility was crystal. The few farm houses out there were still lit up, presumably as them Swiss country folks were still feeding their goats or something. Each light gave a glow to the surrounding snow. Little pools of light.
Magical.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Packing
Claudia and I've spent most of the weekend packing up our stuff. Kids were dropped off at the grandparent (Swiss side) yesterday morning, and by lunchtime we were cracking on with the job at hand.
I recently counted the number of times I've moved house since leaving the family nest aged 19 years. It came to, erm, a little more than once per year. In the old days, it'd be a bootful of books and stuff. Then when I started buying furniture, I needed a rental van of some sort. For the last few moves I'd called in the professionals, and coughed up instead. But this move's looking very different...
What was a bit shocking was the massive increase in posessions that's come with parenthood. It took us a few hours just to pack up all the kid's stuff. And the lads're only 3 and 1 years old. Imagine what it'll be like when their spotty teenagers... or maybe they'll have less stuff 'cos they'll be aborbed into their computer games by then.
Anyways, packing's been a bigger job than we expected.
Anyways, I'm going to bed now. Knackered.
I recently counted the number of times I've moved house since leaving the family nest aged 19 years. It came to, erm, a little more than once per year. In the old days, it'd be a bootful of books and stuff. Then when I started buying furniture, I needed a rental van of some sort. For the last few moves I'd called in the professionals, and coughed up instead. But this move's looking very different...
What was a bit shocking was the massive increase in posessions that's come with parenthood. It took us a few hours just to pack up all the kid's stuff. And the lads're only 3 and 1 years old. Imagine what it'll be like when their spotty teenagers... or maybe they'll have less stuff 'cos they'll be aborbed into their computer games by then.
Anyways, packing's been a bigger job than we expected.
Anyways, I'm going to bed now. Knackered.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Things are coming together...
A quickish update... things really are coming together.
The kitchen has now been completed. True to his word, the Kitchen Guy had a new worktop in the correct stainless steel made up. It arrived on Thursday, and that was the piece that allowed all the last few pieces of the kitchen jigsaw to be assembled. Yesterday, (Friday), the plumber came and did his stuff. He also spent about an hour downstairs in the Keller plumbing in the washer and drier. So, both our kitchen and laundry room are now 100% complete.
Erm, but we have no idea how to use the new appliances 'cos the electrics guy forgot to leave us the instruction manuals. Hmm. However, one expects they'll appear soon enough, so a minor point.
The Curtains and Blinds Guy also turned up yesterday. He put up the somewhat essential blinds in the main bathroom and 'overlooked' bedroom. They're a good solution, and should spare some blushes. He's supposed to turn up again on Monday with the six or seven kilometres of curtain track that'll be needed for the endless glass areas. Ok, one exaggerates, but needless to say, the Curtains and Blinds Guy was a little shocked at the final tally once he'd done a sweep around with a tape measure.
Then there's the Bastelraum parquet situation. Do you recall that the Parquet Guy forgot to reserve the stuff we wanted? And there wouldn't be any more until April? Sheesh! Well, Claudia and I had another look at our samples, and opted for a slightly different parquet, which is definitely available right now. "It also looks much warmer..." says Claudia. Hmm. Anyways, he's also supposed to turn up on Monday, so hopefully he'll get on famously with the Curtains and Blinds Guy.
And those lights? Those endless lights without which our Huf Haus will be a dark place when the sun goes down? Well, I've put up 32 of 'em myself. Another 4 were either done previously, or were done by the Kitchen Guy. A few more to go after we're moved in, plus another 5 for the outside of the gaffe.
I did a fantastic job, even if I say so meself. And only got electrocuted once. Eeek. Good tip for you do-it-yerself electricians out there: put up some sort of provisional light bulb as a visual clue to whether the electric's on or not. And if you do get zapped, don't write it up in yer blog or yer wife'll find out, ("But you told me you knew what you were doing..."). Still, it was all worth it. The house looks far less alien now it doesn't have bare cables poking out of every orifice.
And then there's the landscaping. Now I must say that the only non-Huf supplier who'll consistently provided Huf levels of service has been the landscaping people. They guided us through the various negotiations with the local Gemeinde (local government), helped us sidestep the stupid situation of the Case of the Stolen Land, and generally solved this or that problem as and when it arose. I've a lot to say about the progress outside, but it must wait for another post. However, the punchline is that the general earthworks are now finished, and I couldn't be happier. The landscaper's remaining work could be better termed gardening and joinery.
Progress on all fronts!
The kitchen has now been completed. True to his word, the Kitchen Guy had a new worktop in the correct stainless steel made up. It arrived on Thursday, and that was the piece that allowed all the last few pieces of the kitchen jigsaw to be assembled. Yesterday, (Friday), the plumber came and did his stuff. He also spent about an hour downstairs in the Keller plumbing in the washer and drier. So, both our kitchen and laundry room are now 100% complete.
Erm, but we have no idea how to use the new appliances 'cos the electrics guy forgot to leave us the instruction manuals. Hmm. However, one expects they'll appear soon enough, so a minor point.
The Curtains and Blinds Guy also turned up yesterday. He put up the somewhat essential blinds in the main bathroom and 'overlooked' bedroom. They're a good solution, and should spare some blushes. He's supposed to turn up again on Monday with the six or seven kilometres of curtain track that'll be needed for the endless glass areas. Ok, one exaggerates, but needless to say, the Curtains and Blinds Guy was a little shocked at the final tally once he'd done a sweep around with a tape measure.
Then there's the Bastelraum parquet situation. Do you recall that the Parquet Guy forgot to reserve the stuff we wanted? And there wouldn't be any more until April? Sheesh! Well, Claudia and I had another look at our samples, and opted for a slightly different parquet, which is definitely available right now. "It also looks much warmer..." says Claudia. Hmm. Anyways, he's also supposed to turn up on Monday, so hopefully he'll get on famously with the Curtains and Blinds Guy.
And those lights? Those endless lights without which our Huf Haus will be a dark place when the sun goes down? Well, I've put up 32 of 'em myself. Another 4 were either done previously, or were done by the Kitchen Guy. A few more to go after we're moved in, plus another 5 for the outside of the gaffe.
I did a fantastic job, even if I say so meself. And only got electrocuted once. Eeek. Good tip for you do-it-yerself electricians out there: put up some sort of provisional light bulb as a visual clue to whether the electric's on or not. And if you do get zapped, don't write it up in yer blog or yer wife'll find out, ("But you told me you knew what you were doing..."). Still, it was all worth it. The house looks far less alien now it doesn't have bare cables poking out of every orifice.
And then there's the landscaping. Now I must say that the only non-Huf supplier who'll consistently provided Huf levels of service has been the landscaping people. They guided us through the various negotiations with the local Gemeinde (local government), helped us sidestep the stupid situation of the Case of the Stolen Land, and generally solved this or that problem as and when it arose. I've a lot to say about the progress outside, but it must wait for another post. However, the punchline is that the general earthworks are now finished, and I couldn't be happier. The landscaper's remaining work could be better termed gardening and joinery.
Progress on all fronts!
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Back to reality
Well, those wonderful, reliable, punctual Huf Haus people wrapped up just over a week ago... and now we're getting a glimpse of what everyone else has to put up with when building a house: the fact that the vast majority of companies and suppliers work to a different level of service to Huf Haus.
A lower level, in case you're on the wrong track.
The construction of our kitchen started last Friday, and continued on the Monday. It was supposed to be finished that day, only a few hiccups surfaced. We'd ordered two stainles steel worktops, one for the area around the sink and t'other for the cooking island. Well the kitchen guy had ordered the sink worktop in some other non-stainless steel material. Furthermore, while unwrangling the worktop problem, half the wiring up was delayed; so we're missing the sucky hood thing over the electric hob, the dishwasher's still in its wrapping, that magnificent food centre's full of melt water, and and and.
In theory the wiring'll be done next week. In theory the new worktop for the sink area'll arrive the week after. In theory this'll all be wrapped up just before we move in. In theory this was all to be finished last Monday, so yer can shove that theory where the sun don't shine.
And then we have the Bastelraum parquet situation. That was to have been laid down last Wednesday, and the skirting boards nailed to the walls. Easy-peasy, no risk, no trouble. Except that when the parquet guy popped over to his supplier to pick up some 50 square metres of the stuff, he was stunned to find nary a stick of it. Someone'd mopped up the lot on Monday. Claudia was likewise stunned to hear that the factory won't be able to produce more until April, so in lieu of a time machine, we won't have a Bastelraum parquet in place until a couple of weeks after we've moved in. I, on the other hand, was stunned that the daft sod hadn't reserved the parquet a few weeks back when we'd made the decision.
C'est la vie? C'est le guerre, more like. Why do these people insist on introducing unnecessary risks into their work? Do they want their lives to be more exciting? I'm sure this has happened time and time again, over the years, and he still doesn't get round to making that crucial reservation.
Daft sod.
Claudia and I've decided to take all these things in our stride. We've just left the Huf Haus autobahn (efficient, fast, free of traffic) and are now on the local roads (pot-holed, clogged, diversions). We can either bitch about it, or we can feel smug about the fact that 97% of our project was on that autobahn.
On a happier note, the sink unit for the bathroom arrived on Wednesday. Claudia was there to let 'em in.. and was surprised that they'd already been inside the house for an hour. Huh? Turns out that local suppliers operate a sort of house key exchange; they'd got it off the kitchen guy.
Anyways, the unit had been nailed to the wall by the time she arrived, although there was still some work left to do... which was just as well as it was 5cm higher than it should have been. Claudia took the snap shown above, gave the orders to move it down a notch, and left. We'll see how it looks in its full glory later today.
Another happy note: I painted the keller floors last weekend, using a special keller floor paint. Sort of battleship grey, so a side of one of Her Majesty's fleet'll be short a lick o' paint. I really got quite a buzz of satisfaction out of making my own contribution for once. Until that then, I'd been more like the gentleman farmer of the project; mumbling some irrelevence or other, waving a stick at this or that, and then watching the hairy arses march off into the fields to do the real work. At that moment, I joined the ranks of the hairy arses, and it felt rather good.
Also on a happy note, we managed to find lots and lots of lights this week. If you recall, we've a total light count of 45. So we were left with a lot of research and shopping around to do. And the likelihood of spending a lot of money.
Well, we found the window wall lights at Interio, and bought 12 of 'em. CHF 69 each, so what's that? About 30 quid a pop? And we found the 4 wall lights we need for the stairs at a place called Moebel Pfister, a mere snap at CHF 62 each (about 25 quid). And we also picked up 6 ceiling lights at, erm, at one place or other. Hard to recall as all those light places are beginning to merge in my mind's eye. Anyways, they cost CHF 59 (also about 25 quid). We also bought two spot light clusters, but they were way more expensive at CHF 150 each (65 quid).
A total cost of CHF 1,730 (750 quid) for 24 lights. Plus whatever we paid for the four we already had, plus the two on the way from Huf Haus. And muggins here's going over to the house today to start wiring them up. Should take a month of Saturdays, eh?
Make sure you pop over to Bob's Blog (link on the right) as he's experiencing similar difficulties. Well, maybe a lot worse...
A lower level, in case you're on the wrong track.
The construction of our kitchen started last Friday, and continued on the Monday. It was supposed to be finished that day, only a few hiccups surfaced. We'd ordered two stainles steel worktops, one for the area around the sink and t'other for the cooking island. Well the kitchen guy had ordered the sink worktop in some other non-stainless steel material. Furthermore, while unwrangling the worktop problem, half the wiring up was delayed; so we're missing the sucky hood thing over the electric hob, the dishwasher's still in its wrapping, that magnificent food centre's full of melt water, and and and.
In theory the wiring'll be done next week. In theory the new worktop for the sink area'll arrive the week after. In theory this'll all be wrapped up just before we move in. In theory this was all to be finished last Monday, so yer can shove that theory where the sun don't shine.
And then we have the Bastelraum parquet situation. That was to have been laid down last Wednesday, and the skirting boards nailed to the walls. Easy-peasy, no risk, no trouble. Except that when the parquet guy popped over to his supplier to pick up some 50 square metres of the stuff, he was stunned to find nary a stick of it. Someone'd mopped up the lot on Monday. Claudia was likewise stunned to hear that the factory won't be able to produce more until April, so in lieu of a time machine, we won't have a Bastelraum parquet in place until a couple of weeks after we've moved in. I, on the other hand, was stunned that the daft sod hadn't reserved the parquet a few weeks back when we'd made the decision.
C'est la vie? C'est le guerre, more like. Why do these people insist on introducing unnecessary risks into their work? Do they want their lives to be more exciting? I'm sure this has happened time and time again, over the years, and he still doesn't get round to making that crucial reservation.
Daft sod.
Claudia and I've decided to take all these things in our stride. We've just left the Huf Haus autobahn (efficient, fast, free of traffic) and are now on the local roads (pot-holed, clogged, diversions). We can either bitch about it, or we can feel smug about the fact that 97% of our project was on that autobahn.
On a happier note, the sink unit for the bathroom arrived on Wednesday. Claudia was there to let 'em in.. and was surprised that they'd already been inside the house for an hour. Huh? Turns out that local suppliers operate a sort of house key exchange; they'd got it off the kitchen guy.
Anyways, the unit had been nailed to the wall by the time she arrived, although there was still some work left to do... which was just as well as it was 5cm higher than it should have been. Claudia took the snap shown above, gave the orders to move it down a notch, and left. We'll see how it looks in its full glory later today.
Another happy note: I painted the keller floors last weekend, using a special keller floor paint. Sort of battleship grey, so a side of one of Her Majesty's fleet'll be short a lick o' paint. I really got quite a buzz of satisfaction out of making my own contribution for once. Until that then, I'd been more like the gentleman farmer of the project; mumbling some irrelevence or other, waving a stick at this or that, and then watching the hairy arses march off into the fields to do the real work. At that moment, I joined the ranks of the hairy arses, and it felt rather good.
Also on a happy note, we managed to find lots and lots of lights this week. If you recall, we've a total light count of 45. So we were left with a lot of research and shopping around to do. And the likelihood of spending a lot of money.
Well, we found the window wall lights at Interio, and bought 12 of 'em. CHF 69 each, so what's that? About 30 quid a pop? And we found the 4 wall lights we need for the stairs at a place called Moebel Pfister, a mere snap at CHF 62 each (about 25 quid). And we also picked up 6 ceiling lights at, erm, at one place or other. Hard to recall as all those light places are beginning to merge in my mind's eye. Anyways, they cost CHF 59 (also about 25 quid). We also bought two spot light clusters, but they were way more expensive at CHF 150 each (65 quid).
A total cost of CHF 1,730 (750 quid) for 24 lights. Plus whatever we paid for the four we already had, plus the two on the way from Huf Haus. And muggins here's going over to the house today to start wiring them up. Should take a month of Saturdays, eh?
Make sure you pop over to Bob's Blog (link on the right) as he's experiencing similar difficulties. Well, maybe a lot worse...
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Final handover!
So, the final Huf Haus handover date arrived. Claudia was supposed to do this alone 'cos of my work commitments, but a bit of finessing of a meeting or two made it possible for me to jump into my car and get up there. I arrived towards the end of the handover process.
The house was looking very very beautiful. All the mayhem of earlier in the week had either been nailed to the walls, or cleared up. There was a cleaning bloke doing some final touches here and there, plus a big hairy bloke was going around with a toolkit adjusting this and that. And there was our nice Huf Haus blokey, Rudiger, a different Rudiger from that Bob Salmon but naturally close colleagues. Anyways, he had his clipboard clasped in his mighty mitts, and a cheery smile on his face.
There were a few details already written down (trivial stuff, to be honest) but the handover had almost reached the bit where signatures were to be applied to paper. But what's this? A box of touch-up paints, just in case? And a fixit toolbox (think similar to those kits you get in posher cars, but more extensive)? There were a few more bits and bobs like that, all of which contributed to that nice warm feeling yer get when yer deal with a company like Huf Haus.
Wet ink on paper, handshakes all round, and we were done.
And there I was feeling a bit sad that this was the last of our regular meetings with Rudiger. But then we did have rather a nice house to compensate for that.
I spent some time looking at the parquet flooring in its full glory. This was the first time all the wrapping had been taken off the staircase, and the floors were clear enough for a, erm, clear view. Click click click with the camera. The results of which are posted here. This doussie parquet's not for everyone, but we're ecstatic about it. And if you recall, it's harder than nails. We will see if it proves to be harder than two hyperactive wee laddies.
This was also the first time we'd looked at our bathrooms without the usual construction mess lying around. Again, not for everyone, but we are very very proud of the look. Posh New York hotel, we call it.
Of course the main bathroom's missing a few things. We elected to source our sink unit from elsewhere. Should arrive a week on Friday. The shower cabinet's also missing, down to a minor Huf Haus cock-up. Seems that someone ordered the tall shower cabinet which wouldn't have fitted under the slopey roof; it should be here before our official moving in date (20th March) so no harm done.
The last point is an object lesson to all who're about to move into a Huf Haus: living in a goldfish bowl's all well and good, but few of us are brave enough to use a bathroom without some form of curtain or blinds. Our blinds arrive in a couple of weeks, but until then it's handwashing only. Oh bugger, no sinks. Maybe we can use it as an office?
But the downstairs loo, really a shower bathroom downstairs next to the front door, was 97% complete. The missing 3% represents the two lights that need to go up. I'm still strggling with myself whether to diy this, or call in the professionals. However, short of those lights, my bathroom's finished. Heh heh heh.
Just as we were finishing up, Herr Arkitekt (he of the bowtie) turned up for a butchers. Lots of back-slapping, jokes, handshakes and peering at this or that detail.
Nice bloke.
Just after we left, it seems the kitchen guy delivered his stuff ready for the Friday's work. Talk about quick off the blocks. The following photos were taken Friday afternoon, so you can see that the clutter's back. Ah well.
By that Friday afternoon, most of the kitchen units had been positioned. Our cooking island was looking vast. More like a cooking continent. During a lull in the proceedings, I stood in front of where the elecric hob's gonna be and gloated at the extensive views both inside and outside of the house. I'm going to feel like a master of the universe standing there. Won't miss a trick, so watch out.
And then we have the food centre. Or food center, as this one's an american model.
Ok, this bloody big metal thing's an outrageous extravagance. We looked at all manner of fridges during our kitchen research, and landed on some Seimens food centre as the way ahead. Rationale was that plenty of people spent money on a normal fridge for the kitchen, and then more money for some sort of vampire's coffin of a freezer in the garage or cellar. If we put that money together, then we could justify a single food centre with plenty of space inside, job done. Only the Seimens food centre turned out to look a bit, erm, crap and tinny.
Now, the kitchen guy had some whopping big General Electric food center humming in his show room. He cottoned on that the Seimens research had been a failure, and offered us this one at a massive discount. All's well then? Well, erm, not quite. Even the discounted price of this GE box was way more expensive than the Seimens version.
And our original cost justification? One expensive box is the same price as two less expensive boxes? Hah! We could have bought a fridge, a cabinet freezer and had a long weekend in a posh hotel for the price we paid for this thing.
And for those landscaping fans out there, a brief update. The driveway paving's finished (again). Everything's now cemented in place, so I've been told that by Monday I can test drive my driveway by driving my car on it, and see how it works for us. The various gaps you can see here and there are for soil which'll have to wait for drier weather.
The sandy stuff you see all over it's actually... sand. The idea is that after a few rains it'll wash between the cracks of the paving stones and set 'em rigid.
The house was looking very very beautiful. All the mayhem of earlier in the week had either been nailed to the walls, or cleared up. There was a cleaning bloke doing some final touches here and there, plus a big hairy bloke was going around with a toolkit adjusting this and that. And there was our nice Huf Haus blokey, Rudiger, a different Rudiger from that Bob Salmon but naturally close colleagues. Anyways, he had his clipboard clasped in his mighty mitts, and a cheery smile on his face.
There were a few details already written down (trivial stuff, to be honest) but the handover had almost reached the bit where signatures were to be applied to paper. But what's this? A box of touch-up paints, just in case? And a fixit toolbox (think similar to those kits you get in posher cars, but more extensive)? There were a few more bits and bobs like that, all of which contributed to that nice warm feeling yer get when yer deal with a company like Huf Haus.
Wet ink on paper, handshakes all round, and we were done.
And there I was feeling a bit sad that this was the last of our regular meetings with Rudiger. But then we did have rather a nice house to compensate for that.
I spent some time looking at the parquet flooring in its full glory. This was the first time all the wrapping had been taken off the staircase, and the floors were clear enough for a, erm, clear view. Click click click with the camera. The results of which are posted here. This doussie parquet's not for everyone, but we're ecstatic about it. And if you recall, it's harder than nails. We will see if it proves to be harder than two hyperactive wee laddies.
This was also the first time we'd looked at our bathrooms without the usual construction mess lying around. Again, not for everyone, but we are very very proud of the look. Posh New York hotel, we call it.
Of course the main bathroom's missing a few things. We elected to source our sink unit from elsewhere. Should arrive a week on Friday. The shower cabinet's also missing, down to a minor Huf Haus cock-up. Seems that someone ordered the tall shower cabinet which wouldn't have fitted under the slopey roof; it should be here before our official moving in date (20th March) so no harm done.
The last point is an object lesson to all who're about to move into a Huf Haus: living in a goldfish bowl's all well and good, but few of us are brave enough to use a bathroom without some form of curtain or blinds. Our blinds arrive in a couple of weeks, but until then it's handwashing only. Oh bugger, no sinks. Maybe we can use it as an office?
But the downstairs loo, really a shower bathroom downstairs next to the front door, was 97% complete. The missing 3% represents the two lights that need to go up. I'm still strggling with myself whether to diy this, or call in the professionals. However, short of those lights, my bathroom's finished. Heh heh heh.
Just as we were finishing up, Herr Arkitekt (he of the bowtie) turned up for a butchers. Lots of back-slapping, jokes, handshakes and peering at this or that detail.
Nice bloke.
Just after we left, it seems the kitchen guy delivered his stuff ready for the Friday's work. Talk about quick off the blocks. The following photos were taken Friday afternoon, so you can see that the clutter's back. Ah well.
By that Friday afternoon, most of the kitchen units had been positioned. Our cooking island was looking vast. More like a cooking continent. During a lull in the proceedings, I stood in front of where the elecric hob's gonna be and gloated at the extensive views both inside and outside of the house. I'm going to feel like a master of the universe standing there. Won't miss a trick, so watch out.
And then we have the food centre. Or food center, as this one's an american model.
Ok, this bloody big metal thing's an outrageous extravagance. We looked at all manner of fridges during our kitchen research, and landed on some Seimens food centre as the way ahead. Rationale was that plenty of people spent money on a normal fridge for the kitchen, and then more money for some sort of vampire's coffin of a freezer in the garage or cellar. If we put that money together, then we could justify a single food centre with plenty of space inside, job done. Only the Seimens food centre turned out to look a bit, erm, crap and tinny.
Now, the kitchen guy had some whopping big General Electric food center humming in his show room. He cottoned on that the Seimens research had been a failure, and offered us this one at a massive discount. All's well then? Well, erm, not quite. Even the discounted price of this GE box was way more expensive than the Seimens version.
And our original cost justification? One expensive box is the same price as two less expensive boxes? Hah! We could have bought a fridge, a cabinet freezer and had a long weekend in a posh hotel for the price we paid for this thing.
And for those landscaping fans out there, a brief update. The driveway paving's finished (again). Everything's now cemented in place, so I've been told that by Monday I can test drive my driveway by driving my car on it, and see how it works for us. The various gaps you can see here and there are for soil which'll have to wait for drier weather.
The sandy stuff you see all over it's actually... sand. The idea is that after a few rains it'll wash between the cracks of the paving stones and set 'em rigid.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
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)
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)
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
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!
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!
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