A dreadful weekend. I mean that literally: full of dread. We have moved out of our house for 6 weeks because the ground floor is in a hideous state of disrepair. The kitchen skirting board is hanging off; the shutters are broken, the kitchen tiles are lifting and everything is indelibly dirty, tatty and peeling after 12 hard years of family life. The filth behind the sideboard was staggering.
We have moved into a house on the same street, vacated by some friends for 3 months and rented to us for peppercorn, plus my promise to look after it well. We are extremely lucky with this. And it is a wonderful family home belonging to dear friends - but it is not my house. My own house is right there, 8 seconds’ walk away, which is extra weird. I shower there. Do the laundry there. Keep all our clothes there and just dash back and forth. It makes the dislocation worse, perhaps, but it’s the only way I can see how to do it for now.
Then on Thursday the buckling, knackered kitchen floor tiles were lifted and terrible water damage was revealed: oh god. Will the whole floor have to come up? Were the nice builders who built the kitchen extension 12 years ago actually evil cowboys? Is the water table rising and preparing to flood us to death? Or - wait. It is actually this other leak here, in the roof, that is the culprit? The water is dripping down the back of the stud wall - could it be seeping under the tiles and spreading?
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