An irritation perhaps. Others followed. Unannounced, workmen dug up berms and pavements, and tinkered with overhead wires. Daily our internet and phone connection vanished, old water-pipes were ruptured and unexpected electricity outages occurred.
Traffic chaos remains as sluggish haulage trucks, cabs pulling six wheel semi-trailers, cranes and concrete mixers plague our roads. Between jobs, wide loads stop in narrow side-streets. Some even park in the middle of roads, closing them to locals.
Often the distress caused by intensified building work has been personal. For instance, I was in the kitchen when a flurry of white material recently swept across our section. At first, I imagined blossom shed by a nearby tree. Then I remembered it was winter.
Outside I discovered microscopic polystyrene beads everywhere, the results of foam insulation for new properties being cut in a prevailing wind. The material had carried through open windows into our son's bedroom and the dog's food and water bowls.
When I complained, the workmen responsible fled the scene. I sent photos to the project manager. Their lead contractor visited, he blamed me for being disruptive; his men, he said, had the right to do their job.
When I countered that my family had a right to freedom from environmental pollution and showed him the contamination, he shifted the fault on to subcontractors. Their representative visited and treated me like I was causing him a nuisance.
An industrial scale vacuum used for the entire day failed to remove the pollution. Our veggie patch is still a write-off and our garden offers up airborne clumps of polystyrene beads.
The blaming of subcontractors remains an ongoing refrain. It was offered again when, hanging washing out a few weeks ago, I was leered and wolf-whistled at by a workman who then made sexual comments.
Another complaint led to a different lead contractor apologising. He said he'd spoken to his employees and subcontractors and was confident it wasn't one of his staff because they were trained in appropriate behaviour. It must have been a subcontractor; however none admitted to the offence.
I countered that surely his company's use of subcontractors meant that they were accountable for such sexism. Sadly, because this incident wasn't resolved, I'm loathe to go into my garden during building hours for, whenever I do so, the perpetrator watches me.
Blaring radio music; chats bellowed across scaffolding; regular f*** bombs: all create constant noise nuisance. A few weeks ago, a protracted whirring sound echoed from the homes, one which intensified at night-time into a sustained, annoying whine disrupting our sleep.
Yet again, I was left with little recourse but to complain. Yet again the response was underwhelming: a brief email apology for "the bother" caused, and blame set at those pesky subcontractors who'd, apparently, left industrial driers on overnight to air new homes.
The housing future we've long been promised is now transpiring. It's planned to provide new homes for those shut out of the property market. The impact upon residents of the immense, intensive construction work required to achieve that wasn't addressed before construction started; and remains unaddressed still.
• Siobhan Harvey is an author and lecturer in creative writing at AUT.
