The pleasures of a necessary demolition – Catholic Herald Online

Returning to work after an exhausting Christmas has been very satisfying. Much as I love spending time with my family, I do get bored with dragging the children outside and away from their screens in inclement weather, trying to ignore their demands for sweets and how spoilt and ungrateful they have become after too many presents and late nights.

My mother and I decided, after a hiatus of 15 years, to buy another hotel, this time in East Sussex. We completed on the deal in mid-December, four weeks later than we had hoped, with an equivalent delay expected in respect of our opening this summer.

The builders are just back from their Christmas break, and this is a really fun part of the proceedings. We have received our planning permission and are going hell for leather with the demolition necessary to create the internal courtyard. There are clouds of dust, and I have just had my first complaint from a neighbour. It must be horrid to live next to our site. I am very sympathetic, but cant offer much immediate consolation; we are only a month into our refurbishment and my poor neighbour has months still to endure.

However, we can begin to see the impact it will have and it is satisfying indeed to look at the falling layers of ugly tiles, cracked plaster, stud walls and rotten timber.

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It is not all pleasure, though. My mother is buying lovely pieces of furniture for the hotel while I am stuck debating the pros and cons of gas versus electric commercial dryers, cloud versus server-based phone systems, and how much it is going to cost to move the fire alarm panel.

The technological requirements of the hotel are virtually incomprehensible to me, and I hate admitting that I dont understand some of the things suppliers explain to me. It is, I keep telling myself, good for the soul; there is no chance of me getting too full of myself.

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The weather has lifted and with it my mood. As I took the 07.23 from Clapham Junction the other morning to Polegate, near Eastbourne, and saw the gorgeous pink sunrise that presaged an icy but cloudless day, I had the encouraging feeling that we had passed the worst of winter and that spring would soon be upon us.

I spent an hour at the end of last week planting hyacinths in bowls around the house. I dont garden at all; this is pretty much the only green-fingered thing I do all year. There is a visceral satisfaction in watching my bulbs grow, scenting every room in my house. A visible harbinger of seasonal change.

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My best friend and I took the Eurostar to Brussels for an overnight treat to compensate us for all our hard work over Christmas. There was a Magritte-Dal exhibition that we used as our excuse.

We try to get away one night a year. Two years ago it was the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam last year the altarpiece in Bruges. We manage it by the skin of our teeth every time, in spite of ill children, unreliable husbands and the demands of work. It is, pretty much, the best night of my year, and we both protect it ferociously. I come back with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and the knowledge that I have one friend who has known me all my life and still likes me.

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And then disaster! My wonderful, beloved nanny gave in her notice. She is going to Australia to be with her boyfriend. I am simultaneously happy for her and completely devastated not for the children, but for me.

All my plans for this year opening the hotel, doing some work on the house, my son moving school in September now fill me with dread. Like any working mother, I am only as good as the help I have at home. My in-laws have promised to help where they can, but that is just a temporary solution.

My husband, Marcus, and I are already trying to work out how we apportion the kids over the endless summer holidays. Until now, I have been able to take off a big chunk of time as I am self-employed, but I wont have that luxury this year because of the hotel. I hate missing any time with them as I can see how quickly they are growing up. But this had seemed the perfect year to work a bit harder, with my son Rocco spending another year at a school he loves, my Olga happily landed at secondary school and my Kate as capable of keeping the plates spinning as I am. The best laid plans, as they say.

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I dont think I like having my diary with the whole year planned out already. The only way to tackle it is going to be with my grandfathers advice firmly in mind: just do one thing at a time and try to do it well. Back to the technological demands of the hotel I go

Alex Polizzi is a television presenter and writer

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The pleasures of a necessary demolition - Catholic Herald Online