A MILESTONE IS REACHED

And There Was Concrete...

Finally, the first load of concrete was poured on Friday. So now we have begun to give substance to the new building (though I suppose you could say having inserted reinforcing rods into the ground, which happened last week, was the first step). I was on site, admiring progress on the ceiling, and happened to ask the site manager, who told me that concrete had been expected earlier, but now they were expecting it imminently. Half an hour later I cycled past and saw a subcontractor pacing around, talking on his phone, never a good sign. It was a good while later that it finally came, but it did come, and was poured.

I asked the site manager whether he knew where the concrete was actually coming from, but he didn't; the groundworking sub-contractor orders it from whoever he has an account with. I only asked because the concrete batching plant at Westbourne Park (belonging to Tarmac) is such a prominent feature of life round here. I can sit in the office and see concrete mixers and bulk carriers crossing the traffic lights every few minutes. In fact, this morning, on two consecutive phases of the lights inbound concrete mixers jumped amber-to-red lights. It would be perverse if we have a batching plant less than half a mile away and turn out to be buying in concrete from elsewhere, but of course Tarmac's production may all be going to Crossrail, or similar vast undertakings. I only know there is rather a small window of time after you put the ingredients in the mixer during which you have to use it, so a local plant is handy. No doubt I shall learn more, as there are four more pours to go, to say nothing of "fair-faced concrete". 

I cycle past a building site on the corner of Goldney Road and Maryland Road every day, and had to negotiate my way past a delivery from a concrete mixer one day last week, exactly on the junction. It is clear that those contractors have not attempted to suspend any parking bays, and so all their deliveries produce incredibly dangerous situations which cause a lot of congestion. I am reminded of the large number of licences and permissions that our architects and contractors have obtained for our work, and it strikes me that not everyone is quite as conscientious.


An Inspector Calls

A couple of weeks ago I came out of the Tuesday morning Mass at St Peter's to find a pleasant African lady sitting in the lobby. After the congregation had gone, she announced that she was an environmental health inspector from Westminster (and showed me her card), but she thought she had been misled because we were a church. She had already been to St Peter's School, thinking that the entry in her register must be for them, but they don't have a kitchen, only a servery. I assured her that she was in the right place, because despite its small size we do cook for the public in the kitchen here, but she wanted to see it in action, so I suggested she come back for Saturday Lunch Club (she doesn't work Saturdays) or for the Thursday Breakfast Club. Well, last Thursday she was back.

I was in the office when the cleaner came in and apologetically told me that she had let in "this woman, who says she's an environmental health inspector". So I went down and greeted her cheerily. Of course, neither Jacqui (who is in charge) or any of her volunteers were there yet, so I left the lady doing her emails. I texted Jacqui, who was still at home in Ladbroke Grove, having just been visited by an asbestos inspector. She texted me back to say she had warned her number two, Suzie. The next time I went downstairs some of the users had arrived and had set up the tables, and were beginning to put out the cutlery. The lady inspector had donned a white coat and was putting on a hairnet, which was frankly scary, but Suzie was not yet there. Now Suzie is lovely, but can be quite emotional, so I was beginning to get nervous, and when she did arrive she was frantic with anxiety. One of the volunteers (who's very willing, but has issues) rushed up to get our phone number, in a state of high excitement, as the lady needed it for her forms. I felt it prudent to print out our agreement with the pest control firm which shows that we had begun to take action on the mouse problem before this visit, but I needn't have bothered. Before Jacqui could get here and show off her paperwork, the nice inspector had signed us off with five stars. Big sighs of relief. Congratulations to the whole team.


Pests

The warden of the flats above St Peter's tells me that they have pest controllers coming in practically daily, so she was not surprised when I told her of our (apparently) solitary mouse, and our summoning of Wez, the rat man (don't call him that, obviously). It seems that they have been disturbed by having the boiler  room turned upside down.

Meanwhile, at home, Wez continues to visit, but the school rats don't come into my garden, and all the building work is pretty unfriendly to rodents. There was, however, a large fox in my garden at 8 o'clock this morning. I shooed it away, as I really don't want them to get the idea that they can hide away here. Casimir has chased a fox out of the garden before now, but I don't want to push his luck.

When we cleared the pigeons out of the north porch of the church I guess we thought they'd just go away, but they haven't. They've taken to perching on windowsills instead (which never used to happen), so our conservation architect instructed pigeon wires to be installed. Now they just perch higher up and defecate on the wires. My respect for my fellow human beings is sorely tested by those who feed these pigeons!