Wendyl Nissen: Shiver me timbers

There are many reasons women begin to dislike their house.

For some all it takes is a flick through a glossy home magazine where kitchens, bathrooms and bedrooms heave with design statements and shout profanities from their pages: "In your dreams, loser!" or "See this marble? Way out of your price range".

For others it's a simple matter of envy as they find themselves in a friend's house admiring the new ceramic floor, the recent purchase of European appliances and the unique indoor/outdoor flow achieved in the latest addition, which cost more than a three-bedroom group home.

For me, it was the underfloor heating. We recently stayed in an upmarket lodge somewhere in the North Island where people like Burt Reynolds and Barbra Streisand hide when they come to New Zealand.

And no, we hadn't just won Lotto, my husband was there on assignment.

"The whole place has underfloor heating so you shouldn't feel the cold," reassured our host, before leaving us to relax in comfort.

"Not a green option, surely," I sniffed, as I padded over the ceramic floors, admired the mosaic tiles in the bathroom and bounced on the luxurious bed.

"Warm though," my husband replied. He had just taken off his shoes. "Try it."

And there we were, barefoot and astounded, two recent imports from metropolitan Auckland wiggling our toes and doing a very good impression of two cave people having recently discovered fire.

"Good," I murmured.

"Lovely," he replied.

We returned home to our centenarian villa. The cracked glass in the front door greeted us.

Hastily stuck together with tape, it was the victim of a dry summer when the whole house creaked and leaned and the door wouldn't open unless you performed a manoeuvre which came to be known as "hold the handle, push down and pull" - we became used to screaming it out whenever someone tried to enter or exit our house.

The draughts greeted us next. Under every door, through every floorboard and out every gap in windows we had long since given up trying to close.

"Underfloor heating," I mumbled to myself, just before I slipped down the front steps on my way to feed the hens. Years of use have given the kauri steps a lovely smooth finish which tapers at the end to encourage your feet down and off into oblivion.

"Flood!" my husband screeched, having ventured under the house to our "warehouse" and found that once again the 100-year-old drainage system had failed to keep up with modern demands. What used to be "under the house" and nothing more than a bit of dirt and pilings has been modified into a large room. We've had experts through, but no one can think of anything to do, not while the ancient Grey Lynn drainage system backs up during heavy rain.

"Underfloor heating," my husband mumbled, as he lit the woodburner, which has the sole responsibility of heating the entire four-bedroom rambling villa on its own. It does a very good job, although the draughts don't help.

"Leak!" I screeched, as once again drops of rain fell on my head while I sat on the couch.

We no longer hang art on that wall as it's just too risky. We did get a roofer in to fix it.

He quoted a mere $100 and three months later hasn't done the job. He does ring occasionally during storms and asks, "So, is it happening now? It's an easterly."

I used to not mind our lovely old house. We lead a cluttered existence, surrounding ourselves with too many books, paintings, crockery, children and pets, so it would be a waste to move into something more modern.

When we moved in 10 years ago we had every intention of getting those built-in wardrobes made, fixing the rotting sash windows, plugging the draughts and rebuilding the front veranda.

The only thing we've done is the veranda and that was only because one of the children fell through.

"I'm sick of having to read a user manual to visitors every time they come into the house," I said. "Watch the step, sit here not there, sorry about the cold, just shift that hen. Why can't we just have a house we don't have to apologise for?"

My husband looked thoughtful. I knew he was thinking about several friends' recent renovations and the hefty bills that came with them. "Tell you what, let's save up for some underfloor heating."

www.wendylsgreengoddess.co.nz