Waiting for a painter this morning I started watching one of those home building/renovation shows (on iview because no matter how I try I can't get my smartTV to play actual television channels using the aerial) and as someone whose diet of such shows primarily comes from youtube these days, where I watch people who can't afford rent renovate a van to live in, or on the really glitzy side of things pensioners invest their life savings into a modest homestead and build a permaculture garden out the back, I saw this guy buy a rundown groundskeeper's hut on the edge of a graveyard and be like 'I'm going to restore this place to live in with my ten year old son' and I was like 'hell yeah'.
Only to be immediately cold cocked because the guy was a member of the British aristocracy who grew up in an enormous historic manor, and his plan was to knock down the non-protected parts of the building to dig an enormous basement twice the size of my house, so he could build an underground and aboveground level of his new house that was bland modern trash connected directly to the historic building, for a five bedroom home with its own sauna and a massive wine cellar, to live with alone and with one preteen son part time. And he was fretting because the builders were like 'this will cost four million' and he didn't want to go beyond 1.2 million. The whole time the construction crews are digging he's like 'there's a risk that this old historic building might just fall into the fucking ground because we're digging a wine cellar underneath it. I hope we don't dig up any unmarked graves this far out from the cemetary, that would cost us so much money." Deeply unrelateable life experience, deeply unrelateable life choices.
I just think that if you want to build a 1.2 million dollar mcmansion to live in alone with one part time child then there are so many better places to put it. I don't know if he ever got the place finished btw because the painter arrived.
