I've mentioned before that the house I live in was built in seventeen-something.
Obviously it doesn't conform to any ISO Standards regarding insulation.
The northern side of the house was last insulated in 1924.
The insulation in those days consisted of sheets of tar-paper and a coat of shingles.
How do I know it was 1924?
Speculation really. I found a newspaper from that year that had been used to fill in a gap between two beams.

Last November, a chap knocked on the door, saying he'd been sent along to check the insulation.
He looked at the windows, tapped on walls, hmm'd and hah'd, took some notes and some infra-red photographs – both from inside and out.

Eight weeks ago scaffolding appeared on the north side of the house and next day, at six in the morning, I was rudely awoken by banging and tearing sounds and the smell of cigar smoke. There was a guy outside my bathroom window ripping the shingles off the outside wall. He came along at the same time every day for a fortnight and, regardless of the time, hacked away at the wall.
Surprisingly — when he noticed that I had guests staying — he found some quieter pastime until around 09:00. Each time he finished a floor, it was clad in pastic sheeting and, by the end of the fortnight, the whole of the house-front was coated in plastic.

It just so happened that it was the warmest time of this year, so far. The stench of the plastic was terrible and, of course, no air could get in to, or out of the house. It was suffocating!
It took a fortnight for the next team of workers to arrive. They put up a wooden framework and, when they were finished, obviously took measurements for the new window encasements. That was just over six weeks ago. The house has been clad in plastic again ever since.

On Friday the new windows arrived and I had proof of the fact that some form of co-ordination must secretly be taking place. Workers from two different companies climbed the house – one from the inside, one from outside. Those outside ripped out the old window encasements. The one inside ripped out the windows, sawed away at the walls around the windows and began fitting new windows.
I got the shock of my life when I arrived at the scene. Everything within three meters of the window frames was coated in sawdust and wood chippings.



After seeing me, open-mouthed, studying the chaos, the carpenter put down his circular saw and, realising what my problem was, explained — the guys outside had ripped out the window frames without bothering to cover anything up and, seeing the mess, he'd decided it was no longer worth going to the trouble either ...

Pine sawdust is slightly oily. I now have pine sawdust all over the crockery that was stored on shelves next to the windows, in the sugar bowl, the bread bin, in and all over my coffee machine — just everywhere.
When I got up yesterday, even more sawdust had settled and I was at a loss where to start cleaning.
I eventually started with the ceilings and slowly worked my way down. I'm almost finished in the kitchen now; only another six windows to go ...