Extended bio

Yeah, OK, so I’m a renovation survivor. Are there any other reasons you might listen to what I have to say about avoiding renovation disaster?

I’m honestly not that stupid

I’m actually supposed to be kind of smart - although that of course is relative, and even smart people do dumb things - look at Bill Clinton. I thought I should mention that so when you read how much things went wrong, and you’re wondering ‘Well that’s kind of obvious isn’t it - why didn’t she think of that?’ you might think again and say, ‘Well, maybe it’s only obvious in hindsight.’

I work in the building industry

Yep, I really should have known better. For the last decade I’ve worked as a senior manager in some of Australia’s largest building products companies. Funnily enough, as I was experiencing my own renovation catastrophe, I was asked to run a work research project into the renovation market - so there I was, day and night, living and breathing renovation, and talking to over 100 consumers, builders and architects about their experiences ¬- but more about that later.

I am unabashedly a DIFM (do-it-for-me) type

I don’t really have a DIY bone in my body. For example, friends suggested I consider doing my own painting and tiling to cut costs; no thanks. I couldn’t think of anything more boring. I thought I was better off earning the money and paying someone else to do it. In the end, though, I did more than I ever thought I would.

I’m a woman and at the time this began, single

Why is any of this relevant? Trust me - I was fascinated at how gender and my relationship status became a factor.

I had a budget - and blew it

My renovation was budgeted to cost $180 000 (in 2002) and take three months. It actually cost over $250 000, took two years to complete, and involved a further three and a half years of legal action against the builder for about $90 000. I did in the end get some of the money back, although irritatingly I had to spend another $30 000 to get it!

I was happier when I took control

Now, it’s easy to make fun of yourself and forget how a traumatic experience really felt, so let me make a few things extra clear: when I started my renovation, I was mildly apprehensive but generally raring to go. However as things became farcically horrendous, I became upset, confused, tense and angry. As more time passed, I felt utterly trapped. I was being taken advantage of and I didn’t like it. I felt powerless and I hated it.

When I fired my builder for the defective works he refused to fix, my solicitor told me I had two choices: ‘Throw a tarp over the place for eight months while you try and get him to fix it, or finish it yourself and sue him later.’ The moment I terminated the builder’s contract and took back the driver’s seat, I breathed a sigh of relief, even though I was working full-time and coordinating the completion of a still unlivable house.

My decision: build, sue and write

It was during this very difficult time that I made three commitments: to finish the house, sue the builder and write a book about the experience - no matter how much I just wanted to forget it all once I reached the end. I was determined not to let the builder get off scot-free, and I was determined to help other people avoid the same disaster.