subject: Much Twittering-upon-the-aire Diy Special. How To Convert Your Pigsty Into A Home Office [print this page] All my many devoted fans and loyal readers will be familiar with my long-standing professional track-record, as well as with my activities as a popular Journalist, inveterate Blogger and Twitterer. It may surprise you to know, however, that there is another, lesser-known string to my bow: yes, I am also a renowned expert in the field of Property Development and Interior Design. In these cash-strapped times we all need to multi-task, even the most illustrious of us, and I have found this to be an absorbing and profitable activity. Yes, the coffers of Little Billing Grange have greatly benefitted from my building and renovation projects in recent years.
My latest venture happened right here in my own backyard. Ever since I bought this place from old Farmer Skinner 10 years ago I have been itching to get stuck into improvements on the various barns, sheds & outbuildings that came with Lesser Billing Grange. Finally I have found the time in my busy schedule to get round to it, and you may be amazed to hear that I am actually writing this from what used to be a Cow Byre. You would never know it now; looking around at my high-spec, high-tech office, all is low-level lighting, smoked glass and wire-less gizmos. The only thing which betrays the lowly origins of the nerve-centre of my commercial operations here at the Grange is the faint aroma of cow muck, but I trust that will fade away over time and with the application of lots of air freshener.
The first job I had to tackle was the removal of an accretion of 40 years-worth of manure from Skinner's herd of Long Horns. This was achieved by the use of an industrial-sized hydraulic pump, which Skinner was kind enough to hire out to me at a favourable rate. Contrary to popular tittle-tattle in the Slaughtered Lamb, I would like to make it plain straight away that THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING GOING ON between me and Farmer Skinner, ours is purely a professional arrangement. All the fermented manure pumped out of the old Cow Byre was re-deployed as fertilizer on the fields on the lower slopes of Billing Hill, a clever recycling of valuable resources and very green, to boot. Snide remarks about how Skinner sold me a heap of S***, charged me a fortune to suck it out and take it away, and then sold it on at an extortionate rate to the local garden centre as organic compost, are nothing but the malicious outpourings of small-minded and envious peasants.
After that, it was more or less just a simple matter of gaining Planning Permission for the conversion, installing electricity and water supplies, re-building the main exterior and supporting walls, re-roofing, installing central heating and bathroom facilities, and a lick of paint. And all this cost me a mere fifty grand, quite a bargain I think you will agree. I'm sure that much more than that will have been added to the over-all monetary value of Little Billing Grange.
And I now have my own self-contained home office from which I can direct my consultational and journalistic activities in peace and quiet, undisturbed by the many day-to-day domestic crises and distractions of the Mooney household. At the touch of a button I am linked up to the World Wide Web and all its potential for academic researches and money-making endeavours. I can be in constant contact with my highly-skilled team of professional resources at multiple secret locations all over the world, yet here I am, safe and snug in my rural sanctuary, looking out though my custom-made, architect-designed triple glazing over a panorama of green fields and woodland towards Skinner's Abattoir. What could be more delightful?
Just a minute, I can hear someone knocking on the door to my sanctuary. Dash it all, it's the ruddy Vicar, the Reverend Payne. Perhaps if I stop typing and keep quiet for a minute he'll think I've gone out and go away. Otherwise I'm bound to get co-opted into volunteering for something unpleasant, like manning the Hook-A-Duck stall at the Village Fete, running a coffee morning at The Sunny Dale Retirement Home, or taking the minutes of the Much-Twittering Parish Council meeting. Sorry to dash off like this, but I must sign off now and get under the desk before he spots me.
