Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Home Improvements...


or as the paramour says, 'it's a bit of a fixer upper' and I like to call it, 'get the bulldozer and a tetanus shot.'

'What do you think? It's great isn't it?'
I was standing hip high in weeds and carparts. A fetching collection of rusted pots of paint and a three legged chair blocked my path from venturing further into the 'garden'. I tapped the nearest can with my foot and a slew of earwigs charged out to protect their home. Don't worry fellas I mentally squealed at them in wiggulionics-their common language, she's all yours.
'It's so quiet here, don't you think?' The paramour said rather hysterically. 'And even though we're just half an hour from the city centre it feels like we're in the middle of the country.'
'It feels like we're in the middle of something all right.' I said.
'So what do you think?'
Having shouldered open the gate, walked through a derelict house filled with junk, filthy carpets, greasy lino, -half burnt from some recent fire- stacks and stack of mouldy papers, yellowed doors-some with broken panals- and actual rat droppings,(which the paramour tried to deny but I'm a country girl I know rat dropping when I see them) I was pretty much ready to go home and have a long hot shower. But for some reason the paramour had that feverish light in his greeney/browney eyes. I glanced back at the house. The one remaining gutter hung down held there no doubt by cobwebs and birds nests and two of the upstairs windows were boarded up. I shuddered, remembering the brief look of the bathroom. The old man had decided to paint the tiles at some stage a deep indigo blue. Unfortunately he had used matt wall paint to do this and it had bubbled up and slithered off in strips over the years. Still it was nice that he thought blue would go with the deep pink toilet and bath. The sink was green. The paramour said there was another bathroom downstairs, but if he meant that room with the planks of half rotted timber stacked up against the wall is a 'downstairs loo' he's got to be madder than I thought. I'm not going to describe the kitchen, except to say that was where the fire was.
'Er...'
'I mean look at that view.' The paramour swept his arm towards some enormous leyland trees that all but blocked out the sun.
'It is big.' I said carefully.
'Isn't it though.' He beamed at me.
'You'd have to gut the entire place.'
'Sure.'
'And the roof-'
We both gazed upwards,
'-it needs one.'
'Right right.'The paramour nodded.'But even with all that it's still a bargain.
Something scurried to my left.'Let's go get a drink.'
We left. But the gleam in the paramour's eye did not grow dimmer.
I have a bad feeling ladies and gentlemen, a very bad feeling about this one.

7 Comments:

Blogger finn said...

it sounds lovely. i see a big rambly garden and a whole world for Batman to snuffle. there're probably truffles and morell mushrooms too. runs down country lanes.

all this is contingent, of course, upon the paramour being an adept in the field of FixingUpness. i know you are, but you can't do it alone and still have time for runs down country lanes.

meanwhile, remind the paramour that only total n00bs buy the first house they find.

12:27 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

It is not a big rambly garden, it is a junk filled death trap. And as I may have mentioned before, if the paramour has any skill in fixing things up I don't know where he is keeping it hidden.
How's the leg?

12:31 p.m.  
Blogger Andraste said...

I've lived in some shitty apartments, but this description beats all. You'll have to find a decent one to show the paramour. All things being relative, he won't miss the comparison.

I'm seeing some houses listed for sale that say "great for the handyman," which means they are shitholes.

2:22 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Yep, I know those 'would suit builder' homes ie it's falling down.
This has disaster written all over it.
I once lived in a house that had no central heating and I vividly remember getting up on morning and scraping the ice off the inside. Now that place was a shit hole.

2:42 p.m.  
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