Lofty Ideals

It is quite a well tried and tested comedy classic. The foot through the house ceiling.

It has featured in many sit-coms, soaps, dramas and slap stick entertainment over the decades and never fails to get a laugh. That is of course from those who have not actually done it.

It is more common a mishap than you might think through a pure accident, misfortune, ignorance or downright stupidity.

I can say that from first hand observation of the tell tale signs, typically a large patch of replacement plasterboard and freshly painted skim finish, in quite a few houses that I visit in my working day.

The sudden appearance of a single leg up to the natural stooping point of the groin can arise from a number of scenarios.

In the distant past when the insulating of a loft space had to be done without Government Grants it was down to the householder to clamber up and distribute the pulped newsprint, asbestos fibres, fibreglass rolls, polystyrene beads, rockwool and other thermal materials into the far reaches of that dark and inhospitable space.

The attic, roof void or in Yorkshire terminology the cock-loft was rarely accessed when homeowners had no surplus items for storage. It has been a spin-off of the materialistic times that we live in that for the first time there has been tat and unused goods, appliances and chattels to be put away "just in case".

In the current housing market a roof space is a valuable bit of Real Estate for conversion into value added accommodation be it an extra bedroom, home cinema, gymnasium or, as I came across recently, a whisky room- that is for the tasting rather than storing of it.

The drive towards heat retention and energy saving brought on by the 1970's global oil shortages and other crises saw promotions, incentives and subsidies for insulation.

I recall helping my father lag our loft area and as a consequence suffering from a rash and irritations for days afterwards from the fine, abrasive characteristics of the material used.

Current obsessions over maximising the energy performance of our homes has meant that the unpleasant installations are now done by those with experience, skill and access to inert and non-allergenic substances. They get paid for doing it but in the old days a whole weekend could be dedicated to sourcing, buying and transporting the insulation for insertion into a loft if done privately.

It was best to do it in the spring or cooler autumn months as on a hot day the conditions under a slate or felted tiled roof could become unbearably and unhealthily hot and stifling. In the pre-health and safety era the use of a face mask, skin protection or gloves was rarely the case.

Older loft spaces, in particular were dusty, fusty and musty at best adding to the inhospitable environment. All of these factors contributed, to those working in the dark and confined spaces. towards a bit of befuddlement of the mind, disorientation to the senses and carelessness or recklessness in attitude.

There is a certain male bravado in the act of jauntily stepping across the ceiling joists in a roofspace with or without hanging onto available roof rafters or purlins or ducking under the spanned cross collars.

Any crawl boards or rather stored doors or bits of dismantled furniture will have had to be removed to expose the areas for insulation and so, even to the agile and deft of movement there was no protection in the event of a misplaced footfall onto the weaker plaster between the joists.

I can honestly say that I have not, to date, suffered the disgrace and embarrassment of putting through a ceiling in my own or anyone else's home.

That is quite remarkable in that I have been into say, five loft spaces a day, most working days over the last thirty years. By my ready reckoner that is about 30,000 plus roof spaces.

I did come quite close to ending that enviable record today in finding it necessary to identify the make and model of a central heating boiler which had been fitted on the inside of the gable wall in the loft. It was a daft place indeed given that the bungalow property had some 40 metres of outside wall eminently suited to the purpose.

Against my time served better judgement I set off crawling over the ceiling joists which were clearly discernible above the insulation layer. The pitch of the roof slope was shallow and so there was not even stooping space to progress on foot.

About half way from the hatch to the boiler I started to regret my approach and stopped to make a retreat.

I was conflicted between my own wellbeing and getting the boiler details- not the most challenging of dilemmas I admit but nevertheless quite important to my reporting to the prospective buyer of the place.

Balancing across two of the joists I extricated my phone and took some zoom photos of the appliance casing where I could make out an unfamiliar  makers logo and a stylised signature giving the model name and number.

Unfortunately, in my prone stance half way down the loftspace any light from the open hatch was illuminating only one side of the boiler and although the flash captured the faint script it struggled with the makers badge. I shifted carefully to throw a shadow and this got me, as they say, the million dollar shot.

I could now try to get back to the ladder but negotiating the joists in reverse gear was difficult.

I eventually sidled over to the nearest  trussed rafters and clung on, using them like playground monkey bars. It was exhausting.

It had also been a stupid thing to attempt.

One consolation was that I had not blemished my clean record and could look forward to laughing at the comedy greats or just plain homeowners who had shown a leg in such undignified a fashion.