I am standing in front of the food hygiene inspector, telling her we will have a finished floor within the next few weeks.

I am hosting a breakfast club, and praying no guests want to actually see the Little Pink Kitchen.

I am hoping, praying, willing with all my might that doing it all ourselves will be worth it.

This is doing it yourself.

I am planning the other half of the room, the dining room.

I am using the Ikea 3D planner.

I am excited about doing it myself.

This is doing it yourself.

I am helping the builder hoist the beam into place.

I am making cups of tea and heating sausage rolls.

I am trying to imagine the room that this will become.

This is doing it yourself.

I am putting a wash on.

I am connecting the temporary plumbing supply.

I am causing the heating to switch off by plugging the washing machine into the power.

I am very cold on this bleak November day.

This is doing it yourself.

I am rearranging the house, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, for this stuff to go.

I am welcoming a photographer in to take pictures of the oh-sp-desirable Little Pink Kitchen.

This is doing it yourself.

I am rearranging the house, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, for this stuff to go.

I am dismantling my spare fridge, just so that there is a dust-free cupboard for my packaging.

This is doing it yourself.

I am rearranging the house, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, for this stuff to go.

I am being filmed by a crew, who dare not point their cameras at any part of this house other than that one finished bit.

This is doing it yourself.

I am rearranging the house, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, for this stuff to go.

This is doing it yourself.

I am putting my filthy work clothes on after a solid 12 hours of actual work.

I am pointing a torch up the chimney.

I am pulling the liner down.

I am covering everything, everywhere in dust.

This is doing it yourself.

I realise our washing machine finally has a home.

This is doing it yourself.

I am finding soot in my ears.

I am cleaning door frames, and window frames and boxes.

I am coughing.

I am coughing.

I am coughing again.

This is doing it yourself.

I am busy.

I am tired.

I am making tea in our kitchen.

I cannot find anywhere to sit and drink my tea.

I sit on the floor, with the dog.

This is doing it yourself.

I am opening the box.

I am remembering how carefully I packed the box, how well I wrapped it, to make sure its contents would be free from dust.

I pick out a container.

I notice the soot.

I sigh.

I wash my hands, and pick out another container.

I notice the soot.

I remember the door handles.

I look at the soot.

I remember the protective sheet.

I look at the soot.

I try to remember a time without soot.

This is doing it yourself.

I am helping Mr P fit insulation.

I am determined to end this chaos.

I am sawing, and sticking, and spraying expanding foam.

I am breathing in the dust.

This is doing it yourself.

I have lost my voice.

I cannot garner the attention of the receptionist when I am delivering lunches.

I am coughing up insulation.

This is doing it yourself.

I am on a billboard.

I am in a magazine.

I am achieving all of my business goals and more.

I still cannot find anywhere to sit and drink my tea.

This is doing it yourself.

I am overwhelmed.

I am unable to reply to even basic queries.

I am losing work.

I envy Mr P, escaping this chaos in his office.

I am aware I will be dealing with this for months to come.

This is doing it yourself.

I am lifting plasterboard into place.

I am remembering that I have been doing this for weeks, months, lifetimes now.

I am drilling holes and filling them with screws.

I am planning sockets and switches and lights and shelves.

This is doing it yourself.

I am in the reclamation yard.

I am so pleased the guy working there thinks my plan to build a table will work.

I am ordering legs.

I am researching pocket holes.

This is doing it yourself.

I am ordering fabric.

I am choosing light fittings.

I am thinking about paint.

This is doing it yourself.

I am surrounded by things.

I am working while crouched on the bedroom floor.

I have no space to unroll my yoga mat.

I envy Mr P, escaping this chaos in his office.

I still cannot find anywhere to sit and drink my tea.

This is doing it yourself.

I order the dining chairs I have been dreaming of for the last 15 years.

I am finally able to afford them because we are doing it ourselves.

This is doing it yourself.

I do not know where the sauce pots are.

I can only find knives, not forks.

I need forks.

I hum Alanis Morrisette, and think that perhaps one day, I will look back on this day and smile.

I envy Mr P, escaping this chaos in his office.

I wipe the tears from my face.

I give a presentation about running a successful business.

This is doing it yourself.

I write the date the plasterer can come in permanent ink on the wall.

I plan out what lies ahead.

I think of the necessities, like electrics and plumbing.

This is doing it yourself.

I still have a business to run.

I still can only find knives, not forks.

I still envy Mr P, escaping this chaos in his office.

I still cannot find anywhere to sit and drink my tea.

This is doing it yourself.

I am rearranging the house, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, for this stuff to go.

I am welcoming another film crew into the building site.

I am in awe of their shiny hair.

I am apologising for the mess.

This is doing it yourself.

I don’t want to drink wine.

I don't want a bath.

I don’t want to make jokes.

I am bored of rearranging the house, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, for this stuff to go.

This is doing it yourself.

I realise I can’t do it all on my own any more.

This is doing it yourself.

I accept offers of help, of space, of cups of tea.

I drink wine.

I have a bath.

I start responding to those messages I ignored.

This is doing it yourself.

I realise the fog is lifting.

This is doing it yourself.

I realise that in a few short weeks, I will have somewhere to sit and drink my tea.

This is doing it yourself.