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It stood proud for over 100 years, although latterly it has been in a state of some distress that could, should my neighbours have so wished, resulted in the local authority telling me to remove it immediately. I could see myself that its days were numbered, and knew that I had to take swift action before nature and the vagaries of time and, yes, of neglect too, took a hand and caused parts to fall off onto the rather expensive cars that now park underneath it. Just my luck, thought I, that my new neighbours like to leave their BMW's in harm's way. Dave and Terry came to the rescue - at a price, I hasten to add. Well, Dave came and watched, as bosses tend to do, while Terry, a 30-year veteran of chimney and roof demolition in a city that has been rebuilt from the foundations up since the last jute mill closed 30 years ago, set about removing the slates, then the chimney, then the sarking, then the trusses, and then, finally, the joists, lathing, plaster and wall-frame (at least, I think that's what they called it). Employed, as I was, in my capacity of bill payer and concerned owner, it was my responsibility to remove the bikes, tools and assorted 'useful' rubbish that had been housed in the now roofless washhouse. Most of the critical stuff - the things I don't want to either rust or fuse - have been squeezed into the OPS, with the remainder being sheltered as best they can under trees, behind the OPS and in what passes for our cellar. The roof was collapsed into the building, from where it will be brought out piece-by-piece and burned during the next few weeks leading up to Guy Fawkes' night. The bricks will be cleaned and reused and the slates will be sold (there are 347 18x6" 'Welshers', going for 30p each - buyer to collect). The washhouse shall rise from the ashes, complete with a new roof, new windows and newly rebuilt back walls. As for Terry, I've never seen someone take such enjoyment in hard physical work... and then pose for the camera! What a smile!

I felt like fried chicken last year