Where there's rust...

Brick by brick, tile by tile the debris from the fallen garage roof has been removed to an enormous skip. Some of the contents too. Not everything is suitable for the skip of course; undamaged valuables have been moved indoors and the remaining 'junk' is camping out on the lawn covered in a tarpaulin. Himself also had a little collection of "recycling" sitting on the driveway. This recycling comprised all the damaged metal goods, some mystery scraps of copper cable and a couple of old wrought iron gates. Oh, and a car exhaust, an old metal bumper and a length of old iron guttering.

"I'm going to weigh it in" says he, "metal's worth a lot more these days." I wondered if it was worth enough to keep it better hidden, but to be fair the gateway was blocked by the huge skip.

The enormous rented receptacle was beautifully positioned, perfectly central to the gateposts, leaving just a few inches either side. We'd soon learned how to sidle past it without (much) damage to clothes, but had to stay well clear of the window when the post and papers were delivered.

"Ooh, he's struggling. Listen to him grunting and tutting."
"Pretend to be out or we'll have to apologise."

We even struggled to get the grandson's pushchair past, handing it over the wall to avoid it being wedged for ever. Surely, we reasoned, our little metal collection was safe? Wasn't it well hidden behind the bush and protected by an awkward manoeuvre past the skip?

No. It wasn't. It must have been a bit tricky and certainly taken two or three people to get it out but metal theives are a resourceful bunch. Surprisingly, they also took several steel crates full of old car parts. I say surprisingly, because I didn't know himself had kept them all these years. After all, the car they were from had been written off about 18 years ago in a freak welding accident.

In the usual way of these things, we wonder how they managed without a single neighbour or passer-by noticing.  Thank goodness they came for the metal some time after the jumble sale on the patio had been safely stashed away.

I remember the old "Rag-and-bone man" who, even when I was a child, preferred metal to rags. And yes, occasionally they still had a horse and cart.

Nowadays the scrap metal "merchants" drive past , hanging out of their van windows, scanning the properties, offering to "take that out of your way". Clearly, when there is no-one home they are doing more than offering.

When clutter has no place to hide

Three weeks after the garage roof collapsed we have finally seen the extent of the damage inside. Trying to fit the clearance in between other commitments has not made for speedy progress. Although the tiles from the damaged roof have proved to be almost unsaleable, they still had to be removed by hand to minimise further damage to the goods and equipment inside the structure.

It was heavy and dirty work, but we managed to find a couple of rare sunny afternoons and got a good system going together.

The grubby, grunt work was interspersed with interesting flashes of what lay beneath. Side bets were placed amid much conjecture as to the condition of the various items, partially revealed by removing the tiles, but not yet completely uncovered.

Many years ago, when the children were small, I realised the disadvantage of a Dyson when clearing up tiny pieces of Fuzzy Felt - they can see what you've done. There is no place to hide when a toddler screams and points accusingly at the little brightly coloured shapes in the bagless cylinder. No point in pretending it was an accident.

Similarly, it turns out that the dark recesses of the cluttered garage don't work as secret storage/tidying away unless the roof stays intact. Those bottles that he thought were collectable, and I thought were messy and smelly? Apparently he didn't get rid of them after all.  The old wipe-clean tablecloth, stained with glitter and glue and paint and memories? No, I didn't throw it away. The rash ebay purchases, broken tools, things that "might come in handy"; the detritus of sixteen years in the house, all being gradually revealed.

We've been mutually found out.

The clear up begins

Five days after the garage roof collapse the rain and wind eased off long enough for the clear up to commence. Property Pro (also known as my husband) wants to keep any undamaged roof tiles to re-use or possibly sell so the site is being carefully dismantled by hand. Every tile is removed, graded, washed and carefully stacked. Although this seems very labour intensive, it is safe and completely in keeping with his usual methodical style.

Some items have already been rescued from the rubble: several hi-vis jackets; two picnic blankets thought to have been left in Wales; a cool box and some hand tools. We also "have a visual" on a couple of bikes we were storing for relatives. I hope they aren't planning a cycling holiday in the next month or two.

We've enjoyed watching the reactions of passers-by, and are very grateful for the considered assessments of neighbours and strangers who have, without exception, observed,  "You've got a big job on there". Indeed we have, but then we had already worked that out.

We still have to earn a living, so the work has to be fitted in between other jobs, but with every tile moved I can see PP's surveyor/draughtsperson brain mentally sketching out the new internal configuration of the building. A wet-room has been mentioned, I wonder if it's the right time to slip 'hot tub' into the conversation? Perhaps not, since I spent the first few hours of the clean up enjoying the Kite Festival in New Brighton.

The roof fell in

Yesterday, I came home from work to find that the garage had imploded. The roof had collapsed inwards and was now partly on the garage floor and mostly on the garage contents. The few feet at one end still intact, ended in a serpentine curve, sweeping majestically towards a jagged edge with the rest a jumble of tiles and timber. 

With an empty house and no-one answering my shouts or phone calls I confess to a momentary panic at first sight and my irrational stomach reacted violently. Once all had been located safe and well away from the building I fell apart. I cannot begin to imagine how it must feel for this to happen to a home and am still almost overpowered with feeling for those who have lost people and property in earthquakes, explosions or other collapses.

Fortunately, no-one was hurt, and the only car anywhere near at the time, a beat-up "classic" Saab has been out on the driveway awaiting refurbishment for many years so a bit of dust didn't do any damage.

Today, more tiles have slithered down to the floor, as well as what was left of the guttering. The top row of bricks has a few casualties too. Viewing from the bedroom window, it's an odd sight; it could almost have had a large impact from above. The walls and doors standing proud, looking more or less normal, but with devastation inside.

We still don't really know what caused it but the man of the house is a practical sort with his own property refurbishment business so I do know who will sort it out. In fact the gleam in his eye indicates there may be something more than a new roof happening here.

With not a little dread, I sense a project.