Renovation, renovation, renovation (From Wilts and Gloucestershire Standard)

Renovation, renovation, renovation

Spiralling house prices means many young couples are now having to apply bit of elbow grease to afford the home of their dreams. James Eaves and partner Sophie were one such couple.

For a man whose previous DIY skills had stretched to changing a light bulb, my decision to buy an early 19th century Costwold cottage in dire need of renovation was regarded by some friends as an act of folly.

You'll never be able to replace the windows, jeered the scoffers. You'll never have the patience to replaster and redecorate, taunted the doubters. But one year on I feel I've proved them wrong. I may well have foregone many an evening and weekend out in favour of a night in with the paintbrush and the drill; but the end result, at least to my eye, is well worth it.

After twelve months' toil, I've learned the hard way that there are several essential ingredients in using DIY to turn around a house that's in need of plenty of TLC.

The first is a relentlessly optimistic outlook twinned with dogged determination to see the job through; the second is occasionally having the good grace and magnanimity to call an expert in; and the third is having a partner to keep you focused.

When we bought it, our three-floor terraced cottage in Minchinhampton was in a pretty sorry state. Missing slates meant there were gaping holes in the Cotswold stone roof; every other stair on the narrow spiral staircase was on the cusp of collapse; and the long-neglected window frames were so rotten that they threatened to fall out when you opened one of the original metal casement windows.

And if the fabric of the building was ropey, then the interior design was positively wretched. A damp, stained, grey-green carpet besmirched the small, south-facing living room, pink walls with green floral edging greeted you in the top-floor master bedroom, and pre-Jurassic units graced the dark, cluttered kitchen on the back of the house. And these were just a few of the problems.

Despite the extensive work needed on the property, which was originally built for workers on the Gatcombe estate, financial necessity meant we had to move in and then do the work. This might not have made for the most congenial living surroundings for the first few months; but it certainly made sure we got cracking and got the work done.

The first thing to be tackled (after the carpet had been ripped up, the roof patched up and the lock-less back door locked up) was the kitchen. A total overhaul was needed. Pine units were ripped out and the chunky, wheezing boiler was moved to the first-floor box room.

Although the kitchen was cluttered and dark due to being at the back at the house, a careful rethink of the layout of the units and appliances ensured we could make room for a light and airy dining area with a small table and four chairs. A large mirror at the far end of the room ensured what little light there was bounced back into the room. And with this, a cramped kitchen was made into a comfortable kitchen-diner.

In the living room, we had had the good fortune to discover limestone slabs underneath the mouldy carpet. And after shaving a few millimetres off them, they were transformed from dank and dark hulks of paving to gleaming off-white slabs.

Next came endless nights of wallpaper stripping, beam buffing and painting every single room in the house off-white to maximise space and light. And, ever so gradually, our place became a home as well as a house.

And after this great experiment, what great gems of advice can I offer the aspiring renovator? The first is to make the most of all old features. Never paint old beams, but try and buff them up to their former glory, and restore the original (and draughty) windows rather than going for cosy-but-characterless double glazing.

But most of all, be prepared to have a hearty laugh at the sheer absurdity of things when the project starts to get you down. Humour is definitely needed for such bold undertakings.