Right. Where was I?
Kate and Vic came to visit on Monday, armed with various cleaning materials, DIY gear and a carpet steamer that they had borrowed off a friend of Kate's that I don't like very much.
It's an interesting philosophical position - does one clench ones ethics and use the carpet cleaner of the person one places somewhere outside Xena's orbit in that venn-diagram thingy that the adoption worker made us draw of our friends and family? Or does one stand by one's moral high ground and continue to put up with one's carpets smelling vaguely of alsation?
I chose option a) and feel slightly ethically besmirched; but the bedroom no longer smells of large damp dog. So I think I can live with myself.
We have cleaned everything. Washed everything - curtains, carpets, windows, floors, ceilings. Vic has filled all the small holes where twenty years worth of people have taken down pictures, thought "Oh, I'll fill that hole in later" and then died (or divorced of course). He's put up shelves, curtain rails and pictures.
This house is actually quite nice you know.
Apart from the wall lights in the dining room. Does anyone reading this have wall-lights that they ACTIVELY LIKE? Rather than wall-lights that they chose because they were the only ones in the shop that didn't make them feel nauseous? Or wall-lights that were in the house when they bought it and they decided that they could live with until they could afford some nicer ones and then never actually got around to it?
Update on the house-moving plan: We are going to look for the 'perfect place' to move to. But it will have to be perfect with a gratuitous modifier, as this place is very nearly perfect - the house IS perfect.
B says that when he comes home, he is prepared to gird his loins and approach our neighbours about the possibility of buying a bit of their land for goat-and-bee-keeping purposes.
Only ten days to go now before he comes home - half way through.
Wednesday, 11 October 2006
wall lights of the damned
Right. Where was I?