New electrical regulations meant it was now possible for me to consider doing much of the electrical wiring work myself. Originally I’d thought I could do all the wiring myself, but when I sought some guidance from the Power Board concerning my confusion about wiring the fuse box, they politely ‘clarified’ the new regulations for me - which, when relieved of its electrifying incoherence, basically meant I could now do some of the basic work myself, but still only ‘under the direct supervision of a registered electrician’.
So, far from being rendered obsolete by the new regulations (and the new system of colour-coded components), an electrician’s input was still an essential requirement of the wiring process before you could receive any output. Which was fine by me. Because having come so far mostly alone, I somehow felt almost obliged to do the wiring by myself as well, despite the fact the fuse-box wiring diagram was a frighteningly incomprehensible tangle, and I’m rather wary of electricity anyway.
The thought of those millions of hostile, dangerous volts stampeding along complex paths of my creation, their deadly power harnessed by my hands and only my hands, filled me with unease. After all, I couldn’t even contain a lamb’s awesome strength, nor halt the destructive force of a marauding possum! So I was quite relieved to have someone else, someone professional, someone legally-liable, taking responsibility for all the tricky, and potentially dangerous, bits.
The first step in wiring a house is to decide where to locate all the lights and sockets, plus the range and hot water cylinder. Most houses simply mount each light in the centre of the ceiling of each room, with all the wiring hidden in the roof-space. But I didn’t have any real rooms (apart from the bathroom), I definitely didn’t have any roof-space, and I also didn’t want any wiring visible. The only place I could mount any light was on the single wall enclosing my house.
The fact I had so few options meant perfect placement was essential. It was really a question of imagining where the most light was required and where light was most required, and placing each light to maximise coverage. Of course, to ensure adequate lighting in every corner of the house would have required a wall-mounted light every few metres, making my house look more like a circus tent than a cosy retreat.
Fortunately I’ve always liked the concept of a two-tiered lighting hierarchy - a curtain of ambient lighting for normal circumstances, and a network of lamps and spotlights to suit specific situations as required. So there only needed to be enough permanently mounted lights to alleviate the darkness rather than dispelling shadows from every corner.
One light in each ‘living’ area, two each in the kitchen and bathroom, and one on each porch. The height of the switches was determined by practising turning on the imagined switches under normal circumstances and marking wherever my hand touched the wall. Making them all, as with the rest of the house, custom-designed for my convenience. And the location of the switches was largely determined by the absence of interior walls.
As for the sockets, the electrician recommended installing too many rather than too few, since adding wiring to a system afterwards is always a major undertaking. So I walked around the house imagining myself living a ‘normal’ life, and marking any place where an electrical appliance might be involved. I also had to make allowances for potential futures as well, deciding what appliances/electrical devices I might need, as well as allowing for the eventual installation of a central ceiling fan.
Once the sites had been selected, the next stage was to drill a network of holes through the framing or beneath the floor to allow the wiring to be threaded back to the fuse box, and another holey path directly from the fuse box to the point where the main supply cable entered the house. The array of lights and sockets are attached by copper umbilical cords to the main circulatory system.
Most wiring is straightforward now that most components are colour-coded. It’s simply a matter of inserting the red wires into the red holes, and so on. The only complications were in wiring the two-way switch I’d decided to install for the connecting platform light, making it possible to turn it off/on both from downstairs and upstairs. I struggled with it for three days, but each wiring variation I tried simply created an alternative, but still wrong, on/off switch combination.
Marion, who was visiting at the time, made the commonly fatal error of suggesting I give up and leave it to the electrician. Of course, that thought had entered my mind as well, but at that moment I just didn’t want to hear it. I needed solace and encouragement, not an implication that I was incompetent. After all, I knew it a ‘simple’ question of finding the right combination from a limited range of possibilities. It was just a matter of time...
Eventually trial and error, accompanied by lots of swearing and yelling, did prevail.
Once the wiring was laid, I had to wait for the electrician to be available at the same time as the electrical inspector was available to inspect our work at the same time as the power board was available to turn off the power in the morning so the electrician could complete the final connections, then turn it back on in the afternoon so I wasn’t left powerless overnight. Since such a configuration of eventualities was less common than a vegetarian farmer, I decided to begin lining the interior walls. Because all wiring had to be left exposed for the inspector, I could only complete small patches in the meantime, so I had to proceed with some caution to ensure once the patches finally met, both ends wouldn’t have their tongues protruding.
Miraculously, despite the fact it often felt like I was trying to organise a G7 Summit, all the necessary players in my little power game were soon available, and at the same time, too. The Power Board arrived promptly in the morning and disconnected the supply cable. The electrician arrived promptly to connect the fuse box and the main supply cable. The inspector arrived promptly to chat with the electrician and seal the meters on the meterbox. The inspector then left. The electrician checked his work, took some readings, then left. The Power Board returned promptly to re-connect the power, then they also left. And I still had power!
Theoretically, it wasn’t possible. Theoretically, the power was supposed to remain disconnected until all the wiring was covered. But, theories be damned, everyone had left and my power remained on!
How astonishing, how exhilarating it is when your life evolves to a new, advanced level of comfort and simplicity. This must be what it was like for the first swamp creature that crawled onto dry land when it suddenly realised the importance of the moment and yelled “DRY LAND!!” Suddenly I could switch on a light, turn on the range, have the CD player and TV plugged in at their proper place instead of clumped insolently together around a single socket, simply plug in any appliance, anywhere, and have it come miraculously alive in my hands. What a joyful, triumphant moment. For those few moments (sometimes stretching to days), conscience is transcended by simple awe. For those few moments electricity reigns supreme and progress smiles benevolently upon us all.
With limitless power at the tip of my outstretched arm, finishing the house again seemed within reach, with nothing but time standing in the way of completion. I’d already cut a forest of trees. I’d already hammered a mountain of nails, and each stage had become easier as my knowledge and strength and confidence had increased. The interior lining would surely present no further problems.
The specifications required the lining to be attached in three different directions in order to provide the structure with additional strength. The end walls were horizontal, the lengthways walls were vertical, and the interior walls were diagonal. Horizontal was the easiest, because both ends were straight, while vertical upstairs and downstairs always involved rafters or windows, and the diagonals required angles.
This time I did secret-nail the T&G to the frame, mainly because, unlike the floor, a nail-dotted wall wouldn’t become less apparent with the passing of time.
Once I’d finished lining most of the main house area, I realised I’d slightly underestimated the amount of waste, because there was no longer enough T&G remaining to complete one interior wall, or the entire bathroom. When I received quotes for the 250 metres I needed to complete the job with larch (or any comparable T&G), I discovered it would cost as much as it had cost me to line the rest of the house.
Apparently, I’d been rather fortuitous when I’d made my original order. At the time there had been sufficient logs available to meet the country’s ever-growing demand for timber. But soon after, the great log export began, with the owners of the country’s largest forests opting to send entire forests at wholesale prices to fuel the ‘Asian miracle’. Of course, the only real miracle was that any local sawmills survived such economic treachery.
So I could no longer consider finishing the house as I’d planned. I needed cheaper options. I decided to line the internal walls with untreated 9mm plywood, while I disastrously ordered a veneered press-board sheeting, sight unseen, on the basis it was not only on special, but the salesman claimed it looked exactly like T&G. When it arrived, it looked as much like T&G as plastic Christmas trees look like the real thing, but I was stuck with it (since ‘special’ also means ‘non-returnable’).
Although it was an uncompromising, splitting, shattering, cracking, and overall ugly solution, I managed to complete the bathroom walls. Later, in desperation, I painted over the sheer artificiality of the stuff, and though the paint barely adheres to its glossy horridness and large strips peel off at the merest caress, it was an adequate-though-temporary-and-earmarked-for-replacement-at-the-first-opportunity solution.
The house was now ready for some plumbing.
No comments:
Post a Comment