Hurricane Imogen has arrived. And with it, the latest batch of house woes.
Since we moved in to our new house, it has waged war against us. The Rayburn has broken down, the bathroom ceiling has nearly fallen in, we need a new roof, and last week I had to get a locksmith out to enable me to get in and out through the back door without also allowing access to local bandits. Of which there are few, so far as we have been able to ascertain, but you can never be too careful.
We’ve annoyed our new neighbours by accidentally changing their electricity suppliers (turns out when the house was split the electricity companies just put two dwellings against our house number and no one ever bothered to check which was which). Damp is coming through the front walls and we have an intriguing trickle mark, caused by a substance no one can identify, making its way down the inside hallway. Don’t even get me started on the intriguing gateposts which may (or may not) cause us massive problems and need environmental investigation.
Last night we lit the fire, opened a bottle of wine and generally prepared ourselves for the forthcoming apocalypse. It’s a good job we were ready for it, because a nanosecond later, I realised that I could hear an ominous dripping sound. Opened the curtains to discover water on the inside of the windows. Not where you want it when the wind is howling and the rain is pouring down.
We mopped up, sighed, added ‘new windows’ to the ‘URGENT’ pile – and opened a second bottle of wine.
The URGENT pile is now festering, threatening to teeter over under the sheer weight of Stuff What Must Be Done. A bit like my ironing pile used to be, before Le Pomme came along and took over this unlovable household task.
Everyone keeps telling me that the house has massive potential, and when we’ve finished with it, will be absolutely lovely. The problem is, the scale of what needs to be done is ever increasing as one problem just seems to lead to another. It’s a listed property and comes with an entire international airport-sized luggage carousel of emotional baggage from the village.
All we need is the Big Bad Wolf to come along, and it’ll be game over.