Dear DIY SOS,
Please help us.
I confess – my reasons for appealing to you are not akin to those your usual clients may present as part of a case.
I am, of course, grateful for that.
But in any case, and if you were experiencing a lull in applications at the moment, here goes…
– We live in a shed. The winter is coming and someone told me the other day that it is going to be HARSH. The persimmon seeds predicted it. Apparently.
– The toilet we have at our disposal is temperamental, to say the least. It’s vaguely OK if you know its foibles, but if you forget to treat it with the respect it feels it is owed, woe betide you. Us. That would be us. Woe betide us. (A recent episode with a guest and a baby wipe led to all sorts of shenanigans that involved a selection of questions one should never have to ask one’s guest, and a late night excavation of the cligester.)
– There are spiders. Huge ones. I just know that when I go to sleep at night, they come out. They probably frolic all over my ears, and laugh in my face. I don’t mind spiders. But I don’t want them in my ears.
-The season of mould and mildew is nearly upon us. We will soon have to move beds away from walls on The Shelf (the sleeping area), lest said beds become host to curious cultures. Attention, DIY SOS – this could be a health hazard! (I have Four Little Seymours, you know!)
– Big Seymour is broken. We have broken him. It isn’t unheard of for him to rock in anguish on the floor of the demolition site, all alone, astride a floor joist, wailing “What have we done?”.
– The Four Little Seymours are damaged – Boy even has a scar to prove it. Number One has developed an unhealthy possessiveness after her things have been repeatedly stolen, and kleptomania is definitely an issue for Mini Seymour. She has even started nicking my bras.
– “I am fed up of being disappointed!” yelled one Little Seymour last night. OK, DIYSOS, to be fair, that was a bit brattish and said child was duly chastised, but still. They are putting up with a lot.
– I fear our neighbours are starting to hear us, as The Shed becomes more and more like Number 17, Cherry Tree Lane (pre Mary Poppins) with every passing week. Boy roars and turns puce every seven minutes, Number One shrieks like a banshee sporadically and without warning, and whilst Little Seymour Number Two doesn’t say all that much, there is no mistaking the scorn with which she views her surroundings every morning. She comes down the ladder and just sits, huddled on a chair, complaining it’s too cold to dress. And it’s only just October! Lord help us.
Dear DIY SOS, I totally understand that you will – no doubt – have far more urgent cases than ours. We did, after all, inflict all of this upon ourselves in the spirit of enterprise and adventure. We got ourselves into this mess. And we will get ourselves out of it.
But if you were bored, you know where we are…
Just head north out of Brighton and follow the roaring banshee noises. We are the house with the ostentatious gates and lots of broken washing machines in the drive way.
Classy, that’s us.
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