The Trouble with DIY

I am usually thrilled, and yes even sometimes flabbergasted, when a project that I've had a hand in that has anything to do with a tool--power or manual--comes together. I am not the most adept at DIY, though I can easily tell the difference between a Phillips head and a "regular" screwdriver, and I have put up shelves and painted rooms and managed the small things around the house. There is of course the language difference now--what I commonly called a wrench is apparently a spanner and pruning shears are secateurs . . . but I digress.

The trouble with DIY is whether do it yourself is better than don't invest yourself. Time is valuable to me, and the thought of spending precious hours painting a room or some other such project is unappealing when I consider the alternative—a walk along the Thames, brunch with friends, etc. In the past I’ve found myself calculating the overall cost of hiring someone who can do the job (likely better than me and while I'm busy working): so not just the fee, but also the time I'd be able to do something I truly enjoy. And I tend to be a perfectionist when it comes to making sure my home is lovely--patching up the holes properly, not getting paint on the running boards, not showing funny streaks when you look at the wall a certain way . . . I think you get the point.

Small jobs, those simply too trivial to consider hiring a contractor for lest he or she laugh at you over the phone, demand a bit more thought to strike the right balance—how can it be done well enough, in a time frame suitable, and more recently to consider, without breaking up a marriage? 

Even if you detest DIY, you either have to just do it, live with the consequence of not doing it, or hope your brother who can do anything, literally, lives nearby. (Mine has long moved to Texas!)

Having one of those small jobs at hand, Tim and I embarked on a bit of DIY that had all the ingredients for potential disaster . . . well, perhaps I exaggerate.

Pigeons have been sleeping in a space between the actual roof and the wooden planking of the roof terrace about seven inches above--just enough wriggle room to allow the pests to duck in and keep dry and comfortable. Hearing them cooing in the early morning is less a nuisance than having to clean up after them; they also perch on the railing or the edge of the roof terrace (fortunately out of view) and, well, make a mess. 

Tim's idea was to block the space by nailing a board across the gap. All 12 feet of it, from one end of the roof to the other. Three stories up. With no easy access to the space except from the roof terrace, lying on one's stomach, with no clear view of what you're doing. With a heavy drill to tighten the screws as you hang slightly over the edge.

You can probably sense my nervousness. As a precautionary measure, Maggie was moved from her usual parking spot just below to the neighbour's space, just to the left, in case a screwdriver or some other bit of equipment slipped out of hand or rolled over the edge. There would be no danger to either of us, as we would be securely on the roof and (Tim) wouldn’t need to stick too much out over the edge (lying on his stomach) to secure the boards. Still, I was a little nervous. There is a public footpath nearby, other neighbour’s vehicles, and no safety net!

Tim returned from B&Q with two six-foot planks that needed to be stained, some screws, and a plan. The roof terrace has steel wire ropes for barriers that are used to support canvas panels from floor to railing, which provide a sense of privacy and keep you from falling off the roof. In order to do the job properly, the lowest of the two steel wire ropes--about a foot high from the roof terrace "floor"--needed to be removed so that Tim could lean over the edge to nail the planks in place. It took some time to get them loosened enough--I don't have the best DIY tools, and the nuts and bolts weren't budging. Truth be told, a part of me was slightly relieved thinking the plan would not come together, until Tim changed tactics and was able to finally loosen the wire ropes and make a gap to lean over the edge, place the boards, and secure them. First mission, accomplished. Bonus? It was a lovely, sunny day; I couldn't offer much help to Tim while he tried to disengage the ropes, so I had to settle for sitting in the springtime sun, just warm enough to be comfortable.

Next we needed to place the first six-foot plank and get the first screws in well enough to hold it in place before getting them all tight to secure the board. I was slightly tentative about getting the plank in position, but it was easier than I thought--we worked together slowly to lower it in place (three stories up), and there are several inches of space where, once we gently lowered the board in position, it could rest easily without being nailed and with little danger of it falling--though trust me, I held my end in position until the first few screws were in place!

Tim had hoped to use his power drill as a power screw driver, but alas (or in my heart of hearts, whoopee) the drill bit wasn't good enough and he had to resort to using a standard screwdriver. I held the plank in place until two of the six screws were affixed--after all, the board could fall (three stories) and knock someone out, or veer left as it sailed down toward the ground to where the Peugeot was now parked and smash the windshield!!

Frankly I'm not quite sure where all this potential disaster thinking was coming from; all I knew was that my main objective in this project was to prevent anything like that from happening. So, when Tim placed the screw driver down, I cautiously moved it several inches from the edge, and when both boards were in place and he was leaning head and shoulders over the side to paint the board with waterproof stain, I kept nudging the can away from the edge. I always made sure that any screws or tools used were far enough away to not be accidentally knocked over as Tim moved across the roof (all 12 feet) to apply the stain.

Job well done, and the pigeons have apparently found a new perch. When Tim mentioned that should the pesky birds try to access their former home from the opposite side of the roof where we suspect there is a similar seven-inch gap that we could simply do the same, I said a silent prayer that they would live up to the reputation of being bird-brained and not figure that out!

My DIY lessons learned from this experience?  Well, as a homeowner it’s good to know that I have my own Handy Andy who can tackle those jobs too small for the no-job-too-small advertisers in the local paper. (I think Tim actually enjoys the little challenges now and again.)  And it was probably my fear of heights that made me envision potential disaster; I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, I just prefer my outdoor DIY to be gardening, where there is terra firma!  And while time is money, sometimes you have to JFDI. Y.