We’re in the middle of a renovation this week, an improvement, a making new. In two days the lovely men we hired have completely removed the old bathroom, tiles and all, and begun to mend it again, this time with things we have chosen. I have been amazed at lots of things these last two days: the speed of their work, their cheeriness, their faith that everything can be done and no problem is insurmountable, their willingness to do the job exactly the way we want it, the fact that something as seemingly solid as a bathroom can be removed and replaced just like that.

I’m showering at the gym, the cats are being locked safely away in bedrooms for the day, the dishwasher is out of action since it turns out the stopcock is behind it, it’s impossible to do any washing, Isaac’s having to work from home on the end of my craft table, there’s a bath in my living room, and I feel slightly embarrassed by my desire to listen to the Archers at 2pm.

Oh, I thought this morning, I wish it would get back to normal.

And then I realised what a silly wish that was, because this is normal. Making a home nicer is so normal. And being jolted out of your routine is normal, or should be, because it forces you to look up, see where you are, how far you’ve come. Renovation and change is a part of life, or we stagnate, and I think people who are drawn to making things themselves understand that instinctively, even if it might not be a conscious thought. Every doorstop, apron, bag, coaster, and garment we make is a way of making life different, no matter how small. And the joy of doing that hardly needs to be spelled out, or why are there so many of us doing it?

So as much as I enjoy the process of making something on my sewing machine, I’m going to enjoy the process of making my house better. Here endeth the lesson.

‘Gosh, your toilet really is sinking into the floor, isn’t it?’

And do you know, it is. I decided this week to use my flurry of go-getty new year-ness to finally do something about our hideous bathroom. After all, it’s been three years since we moved in and we’ve hated the room for all of that time.

Perhaps the room has felt that hate and decided to get its own back, because it’s leaking. The bathscreen, which periodically falls off into the bath, sometimes onto bathing occupants (ie me) has decided that it no longer wants to keep the water inside the bath when we shower, so the floor is littered with old towels.

But we suspect worse. The floor moves. The floor tiles are all cracked and no longer level. But the previous muppet encased so much of the pipework and cistern in botched up wooden contraptions covered in tiles, that we can’t actually see what else might be leaking.

So I got a man in to quote for it. I’ve also been to the bathroom shop down the road and I’ve chosen a bath, tiles and fancy pants taps. We know what kind of light fitting we want and that we want a slate floor. We need to find a basin, and a towel heater, and a door, and a cupboard, and a toilet roll holder. There are probably other things too.

On the plus side this flurry of activity leaves me with nothing pressing to do this weekend except whatever I feel like doing although so far that’s been ‘sleeping late’. I’m sure I’ll think of something else.