We’ve lived in it for 35 years.  We bought it new so “Ol’ House” is a bit of a stretch.  But we’re moving soon.  “Downsizing” they call it, although the concept seems to have eluded Our Gert who has gone for another 4-bedroomed detached which will end up costing us more than we’re getting for ours.  I, on the other hand, was looking for something that would do me till they carried me out in a box.

But no matter.  The point is this.

The house is grieving.  It’s grown so attached to us that’s it’s starting to hurt.  And it’s pleading with us not to go.

Pointing, which has stuck like shit to a blanket for 35 years, has started to fall out.  Doors which have performed the rudimentary functions of opening and closing for the same amount of time have now decided to snag on the closing jambs or the floor.  Double glazed windows have suddenly clouded inside.  Kitchen appliances – the dishwasher, microwave oven, washing machine – have come out in sympathy.  It is as if the whole house is stamping its feet in protest at our leaving.

We’re due to flit in mid-June and, quite frankly, it can’t come soon enough for me, or else the whole bloody thing might decide to implode.