Last Friday I found the most wonderful plasterers, Paul and Josh who agreed to work Monday and Tuesday nights to give me a new, safe ceiling. The plan was to batten the existing plaster and fix a new plaster ceiling to that. Easy. This pic is of my original ceiling as it crashed to the floor. I guess you could say things didn’t quite go to plan.
Cornices gone, they found the ceiling was just too damaged to take the battens. We agreed the best course would be to remove the old ceiling and fix a new one to new battens fitted to the beams.
Standing on a tressle, Josh reached up to make a cut. And it was all downhill from there. Literally. The noise, the crash, the dust, broken pieces of roof tiles and 50 years of mouse poo cascaded down. It all happened so fast, pinning Josh and Paul between the wall and the fallen plaster. Luna, Summer and I were standing in the doorway so missed the worst of it, although the dogs jumped about 2m in the air and bolted outside as the ceiling came down. I called out to the boys and from the mud and the blood and the beer came reassuring replies as they cut their way to freedom. Phew!
Cleaning up the old blown-in insulation that covered the floor was a little like herding cats. What a shit show. Mess finally cleaned up, the boys got to work and in an hour new battens were in place. Off to the pub for a well deserved beer or 10.
And by Wednesday afternoon I had a brand new ceiling. Yes, my 36 hour disaster/resolution theory came through once again. Josh and Paul put their hands up to repair my ceiling. Little did they know they’d be wearing it. Guys, you rock!