Most people spend their Wednesday nights demolishing the ceiling of their new house, right? Approximately 40 minutes after we picked up the keys from the real estate agent, we did a quick inspection then yanked off a Cane-ite ceiling tile. A bug puff of fibreglass insulation mixed with possum poo and fifty-odd years of scum came crashing down. We weren’t planning on doing quite so much demolition last night but got slightly carried away. I was wearing sandals and skinny jeans which were not conducive to being covered in layers of itchy fibreglass and softboard splinters, but hey. Safety first, kids.
Because each ceiling tile is a slightly different shape, we had to measure them and draw a grid so we can replicate the exact same size with the new tiles. I love the Modernist attention to detail – each room has between four and five rows of tiles, with no weird short bits at the sides because they have all been laid out on a grid. Slightly OCD, yes, but definitely not something you would see in a cookie-cutter suburban development today.
Anyway, we donned our dusk masks, turned on Johnny Cash and ripped out the ceiling in the living room, dining room and half of the kitchen ceiling. We were on a roll, so started smashing out the old kitchen too. God, it is so gorgeous, but in serious need of an update. We are aiming to get the big, messy jobs done before we actually move in March. So that’s demolishing, insulating, wiring and replacing the ceiling, replacing the kitchen, sanding and polishing the floors and plastering the ceiling in the bedrooms and bathrooms. Totally doable for two people in about six weekends, right? Right.