Over near four decades, the innumerous projects that I have been involved in to which I refer, have included Listed Buildings galore. When consulted on detail, or submitting samples, or suggesting remedies, I have become accustomed to being met with the owner’s despair… “subject to the Conservation Officer” etc.

And now, we own one. A listed (Grade II) Warwickshire timber frame black-and-white built in Shakespeare’s time, that is, and “Abandon hope all ye who enter here” springs to mind in an instant. “Money Pit” is NOT an under-used cliché. In the last eighteen months I have often wondered who the house belongs to. The words “historic fabric” can keep me awake at night, especially as it falls off, disintegrates, delaminates, deteriorates, while awaiting consent for repairs. And paperwork that despite our supposedly paperless generation would challenge a 1960’s Civil Servant! My rant is over, for I know about buildings. And the only credit I can give to the delay caused by Post-Grad Part-Time Officers is that while hearing the Death-Watch Beetle ticking away with the clock, we have been able to live with the building and now understand all her needs. Simples!

Or not so. “Historic fabric” has become an abstract form. We have spent twelve months negotiating the replacement of a sole-plate beam which, when finally approved & removed, turned out to be 10% beam, 90% fresh air, the 90% having over the years fed the beetle currently attacking tasty timber elsewhere.

£1500 was spent on getting approval for method of paint removal and approval of a suitable replacement paint. Approval of mortar is a given undertaking, for it must be a traditional lime. But the colour of the mortar – too “pinky” was questioned. When it has to be painted!

The frustrations are typical of many that have prompted a blog. Never mind the ridiculous demands on us maintaining a record which we all know is going to be hoiked into bottom of the 21 st Century equivalent of an anonymous desk-drawer. The formatted records are not at all for posterity but to cover the arse of aforementioned Post-Grads uncertain of their decisions in a litigous world.

I am sure this condemnation will strike chords in the heart of anyone who owns a listed building and has encountered The Conservation Officer. In our 21 st Century world of planning, the C.O’s comment has become more powerful than the great OZ himself, and just as incredible. There’s no place like home.

They seem to forget that detail.

Busby