Poor Countess du Ruel, sympathizes Mrs M. Her tiny cul-de-sac in Chelsea is under siege by massive building works. Now a basement is being dug, and as everyone knows that causes terrible noise and disruption. This comes in addition to her next door neighbour's building works. I don't think she's had a good night's sleep in a year!

My friend the Countess is a victim of trendy London's latest craze, basement extensions. Fat Cats do it, Oligarchs do it, everyone's doing it. And from a re-sale point of view basements in Chelsea mean pure gold.

I've just put down the phone to the poor dear. Her life was made hell for a year and a half. White vans blocked her roadway and residents' parking, heavy drilling began at 8 a.m., making it impossible to sleep past that hour, and ear splitting noise lasted until 6:30 p.m. And what recourse does she have? Nothing, she's supposed to grin and bear it!

For months the noise was so intrusive it was impossible for her to stay at home during the day while the thunderous noise went on. I felt so sorry for her.

Normally she lets her house to US bankers for a hefty sum. The agents said not to waste her time even showing the property to prospective tenants. "It's a waste of our time and yours," said the man from Savills.' And he's right. No one in their right mind would let a house with drilling going on next door. She has suffered a year's loss of income in addition to the credit crunch.

One day when I was there, we were invaded by clouds of dust which settled on every tabletop of her house. The garden was under a veil of powder, with every leaf coated. Her pond became so dirty that I had to help her remove the fish ... for their salvation. On the pavement in front of her neighbour's house was a mountain of rubble. One weekend a ton of sand was dumped in front of her garage and left over the weekend, making it impossible for her to remove her car.

Not once did her neighbours express any interest in the discomfort she and the other residents were experiencing. In fact they took the high moral ground that they were only doing 'what is permitted under building regulations.' It didn't concern them if the dust made her asthma life threatening, forcing her out of her house. They didn't comment upon the garage being blocked. In fact, they spent most of their time avoiding these nuisances in the South of France on their yacht. They didn't want any inconvenience for themselves. Heaven forbid that they should experience noise or dust, or that their lives should be disrupted in any way.

Now that the noisy works have stopped, her neighbours have moved in. Even though their pavement is still littered with rubbish and building materials, they don't look at any of the residents who live nearby or say "hello." As far as they are concerned the Countess made a lot of trouble for them with her complaints to the Chelsea Council. They think she slowed down their project. It does not occur to them that she might have any justification, or that they might have offered to have her windows cleaned out of sheer politeness or consideration.

They simply look upon the residents of the cul-de-sac as troublemakers.

Now another house has sold, and the rumour is that they'll be digging down, a la oligarchs, below the house which creates terrible noise and nuisance, and the threat of subsidence. In other words all the houses might collapse. Charming!

Planning laws should be changed to take in the fact that renovations today actually mean the demolition and rebuilding of the entire interiors of the houses. The architects see to it that they have a 12-month project. To keep costs high they remove beautiful floors and windows and replace them with inferior quality reproductions. The architects are raking in fortunes. These renovations cost millions. They remove all the original features and create predictable 'global' interiors.

This is what comes of London being a global centre, which I think is a tragedy and 'for the birds.' The only ones to profit are the builders and architects. London's houses are becoming boring clones of each other. It's all over London like a virus.

C'est la vie!

— Mrs M