Well, the rot has set in.
Our poor little bungalow really is feeling its age. The walls are cultivating an ever-more colourful array of micro organisms, and nothing seems to prevent the growth.
I don’t remember this last winter. Perhaps the bungalow has held out just long enough to hear that we are, in fact, able to give it the face lift it deserves, and has thrown the towel in. Like a dying body, it just can’t fight the infection any more. It seems to know that soon, (and hopefully before the walls crumble away altogether), it will be lined and screeded and plastered and painted and shored up and titivated. All technical terms I have picked up over the years.
All wrong, I expect.
So the question really is, how soon is soon?
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