Purveyor of Tall Tales.


For all my moaning I do rather like my house. It has history (it’s a 104 years old) and we have bags of room allowing me a decent space to write in.

However, I’ve realised my house does not like me.

From busted drains to leaky showers and collapsing ceilings the house has rarely missed the opportunity to put the boot in. I must admit that when we decided to do the back bedroom next I rashly thought “pefect, what could go wrong there”.

I never learn.

So we’re taking the vent off the wall and I notice a couple of feathers. Doesn’t bother me. I mention it to G, she’s less keen on anything bird related in the house and so decides to excavate the feathers. Only when she pulls on the feathers they don’t come out. They’re still attached. Yuk.

The bird had been there a while hence no smell but it was a fairly large magpie that had somehow contrived to fall head first down the chimney, a level of targeting that beggars belief given the size of the chimney. I’m not good with animals at the best of times – I jump at chiwawas. The vent hole was not very big. I had to remove it. You get the idea.

I skipped dinner.

So that was my Sunday night. How was yours?

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