A reprieve, you say…

The small print in the last post should definitely have been something along the lines of “may actually be an oncoming train”.

I mean, it would still have been wrong; it wasn’t actually an oncoming train, it was instead more akin to the front edge of the blast wave of a recent nuclear explosion. With a tunnel collapse hot on the heels of that blast wave. With a stray irradiated cat pissing on our dessicated skeletons hundreds of years later to add insult to long-forgotten injury.

Ahem. Anyway.


Our builder is going into liquidation.

We are very much not in what one would normally refer to as one’s ‘happy place’. (Am I referring to our state of mind or the state of our house? You decide!)


Oh well. Could be worse. Onwards we go. At least we still have a toilet, albeit one that’s not firmly attached to the floor or wall, is in the dark, and is 20m away from the nearest running water (the bathtub; keep up).

Renovations are no joke; spend your money on hookers and blow instead, kids.

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