#Once upon a time - 365 Days

Once upon a time .....

One day, only a week a go, we all squeezed inside the long blue van, Younger Dad, Little A and I. It was a long long van, plenty of room for the brand new double mattress and away-away bags in the back, even space for monkey and doggy. A very used van; rust on the hubcaps, a small dent on the bonnet, scratches along the side of the sliding door. Witches fingernails? Or dragon's claws? Probably a swipe from a bony branch along a narrow bramble-lined road. 'It's so high up,' said Little A. It was fun with a view, even if my hips were compromised, wedged between the inflexible bookends of a child seat and door. Younger Dad drove. I read. 'Can I watch Frozen on the ipad?' a little voice asked. We were on our way to Norfolk, to Granny's; to accost the Easter bunny, to reload the van with a veritable cardboard city of Younger Dad's history, perhaps also a pin ball machine, a proper one with lights and things that go ping. And where exactly was it going to go? Next to the dining table? In the shed?...... Younger Dad pulled over, time to eat, asserted the weight of the rented vehicle, parked in a diagonal across two spaces; no messin' our family of three...

And the irony wasn't lost. A year ago, box upon box stacked ceiling-high in the living room, sucking the oxygen from the air, blocking the light from the sash windows. Dry. It made my mouth dry. And dust. In hair, on scalp, in the grooves of my palms. Masking tape stuck on the carpet, on lips, along the skirting boards. The big big move. Away from London, but not quite, still zone seven, in the north west ring of the Home Counties. Far enough from the urban cry of sirens, close enough for a curry in Brick Lane or a trip to the zoo. The best decision ever made.

The hob didn't work, the fridge broke down, there were ants and leaks and damp. A garden choked in weeds. And we loved every minute of it, even if it was the coldest spring, and half the new living room was for months an unpacked tower(s) of books and records and unnecessary jetsam. Little A began a wonderful pre-school, will begin the primary school six doors down the road this September - a sky blue uniform, a brand new adventure - with her favourite friends and cousins. So good living near family now, for a cup of tea, a chat and a shoulder; a palpable belonging. I pulled out the dandelions and the creeping buttercups, replaced them with lavender and snapdragons, terracotta pots and ornaments. A garden to sit in, feel proud of, the hollow curlink-curlink sounds of the wooden wind chime hanging from the arm of the silver birch. I wrote. A lot. Pounded through the first draft of a novel, tapping away at the window table of the bestest local cafe ever - like evoooor - eating slice after slice after slice of cake. We have celebrated birthdays, held parties, and relaxed in the warm fuzz of a lazy first Christmas. Now we have ambitious plans; to extend outwards, to build upwards, to make our mark, to stamp the interior in the colour of three different personalities; to make our house a family home. And here I am. Calm(er) and quiet. Myself.

The pinball machine never made it, beyond repair. Never mind eh? But many boxes did, arranged against the living room wall. Piles and piles of old music and technology magazines. A twenty five year old computer. Degree course work. The milestones of Younger Dad's life. When we arrived back from Norfolk, a cloud burst had deepened the colour in the garden; pea green grass and roaring pink clematis, like the rich fondant centre of a strawberry chocolate. Is this what shamans see? Home. Home. Home...

#Once upon a time - Alchemy. Part Two.

Once upon a time .....

I followed him up the stairs. He didn't smell too good, smelt of fags and ash; over his top lip, strands from his moustache - a fat wiry brush - hung, curling, tinted in a colour swatch of nicotine yellow. A long term smoker. Forty a day probably. Every other step, a cough and a wheeze, an asthmatic rattle all the way to the top. I remember only counting twelve steps.

'So this is it, ' he said, clearing his throat in the ball of his fist, 'take a look around.'

First a bed room, strange angles. Then the bath room, nice size, loving the position of the window. Another bedroom, this will be the master. And through a final door into a vacuum of space and light. That's when I knew, decided right there on the spot. Why wasn't Younger Partner with me?  The roof had been scooped out like a pumpkin; wooden beams crossed the ceiling and where suitcases and roof racks and boxes of bric-a-brac would once have been stored was a mezzanine kitchen. An eat-in kitchen in the roof? Now I loved that idea...  

A first property bought together. The first night; glasses of champagne, fish and chips out of the paper, a gift of chocolate cake from the neighbours downstairs. The joy of discovering a new area; Chiswick, Shepherds Bush, Turnham Green. The best Thai restaurant on Askew Road.

We lived here for seven years.

This wasn't any ordinary flat, this was a crucible made of magical stuff; where gold was fashioned from waste basket junk, where sapphires poured from the bathroom tap, where dreams bubbled in fairy wisps of kettle steam...

I shed my skin a dozen times. I ditched the DJ'ing, spent five years retraining as a psychotherapist. I never worked so hard; the late nights at college, weekend workshops, seminars, clients, personal therapy, essays, case studies; all juggled with full time jobs, those soul sucking rent payers. I found myself under proposition one warm July evening. A Friday. 'Would you marry me?' Younger Partner asked, propped on the edge of the chair opposite; his expression earnest, puppy dog eyed, a tad nervous. 'Pardon?' I replied, 'could you say that again?' 'Will you marry me?' he repeated, this time his cheeks burning lanterns, 'Er... er... yes, yes of course I will marry you.' I exchanged Ms for Mrs. Under the living room beams, early March gliding through the panes, my best lady and I were plucked, pruned, kneaded and painted; two wedding dollies immaculately sculptured for a big big day. I grew a bump, solid with fluctuation and hard movement. The day I carried her over the threshold, into the living room, it was if she'd always been with us; right from the very beginning. I battled the closing walls of post natal illness; our home a muted sunken place; my life pre-baby, a flaky shadow, alien, a distant memory. I began writing. This. A blog. A new existence; words, words, words... and I bade farewell to my thirties; hello to middledom and swathes of silver hair. (and cake).

There were parties; Younger Dad's infamous thirtieth. The beer stains. The bass. A five course New Years bash. A first birthday, a second...

And almost a year ago, after the sign said sold and the paperwork cleared, we moved.

So much change, different people.

If you like my writing, you could do two wonderful things for me (pretty please);
1. Vote for me in the MADS (best writer). 2. Preorder my anthology, Seasons Of Motherhood (published in March). Thank you.

Here

"GOOD MORNING. MY NAME IS DARREN. I'M YOUR LOCAL POSTMAN."

Wow - I think - they didn't make them like that in W3.

The best you got was a grunt or a half glance.

But I like Darren's friendly introduction. Sunshine on my doorstep.

It's been fourteen days since we arrived laden with card board boxes, objets d'art swathed in bubble wrap, an intrepid Little A holding bunny in her hand, and even though I've suffered a bed confining cold, that there is still so much to sort through and unpack, I feel content.

The local welcomes, the warmth, has been quite disarming at times - 'Is this her first term?', 'when did you move in?', 'you're going to like living here, lots and lots of families'.....

I feel like a big kid, itching to explore, eager to find the short cuts, the quickest route to the Metropolitan Line station - 'Croxley Green' its sign shouts proudly, in bold, white letters.  

And so far I have uncovered three long, hedge lined passage ways that open onto a new crescent or behind Little A's pre-school. In London, I would've thought twice about walking down a deserted, enclosed path such as this, the barricading foliage not quite so inviting and green, crisp packets and over-chewed gum moulded on the tarmac. But it feels safer here. Much safer. And quiet. During the day, I spy the odd mother wheeling a buggy or a pensioner in walking boots. At night, the pavements feel bereft of footprints, and on the stroke of midnight all the street lamps switch off. Just like that. And it makes me think of a benevolent granny - the corners of her mouth up-turned, kindly - dressed in frilly night cap, and billowing gown, as she blows out the flame atop a tall, waxy candle in one strong puff.

If you were with me, we would saunter up the New Road, the road that houses all the must-have local amenities - the doctors, the library, the supermarket..... the undertakers. I would show you my favourite sign post, next to the library, one of those old signs that I love, that points you in every direction, that makes you dizzy from choice. Do you need the loo? Look it's sign posted right here....

Then I would take you to my favourite haunt - a tea and cake salon named Coco. Do you have your lap top with you? Great, because this is the perfect writing spot. I've officially christened Wednesday's 'Coco Day'. I'll inhabit my little table by the window and type away on my keypad with a hot chocolate or detox tea and large slab of cake, rounded off with a bowl of homemade soup and chunk of ciabatta at midday. It's the perfect place to loose myself in a tangle of thoughts and write lists and watch people go about their day.  

I know I have moved somewhere welcoming, where I already feel a part of the furniture, the sedate momentum of life. This is the kind of place where people move, stay rooted - our immediate neighbours have lived here over twenty five years. I hope one day Little A will look back on the place she grew up in with fond memories, remembering it as home. And we are still so close to London, only a forty minute dash from friends and museums and galleries and grand shopping plazas.

The other evening, I lay on my bed, the window open, a slight breeze brushing against my left cheek, and I realised I couldn't hear the hum of the 207 or the 607 on The Uxbridge Road, or the screech of sirens rushing towards another emergency, another arrest. Instead, my ears were treated to the undulating chorus of birdsong, so perfectly clear and uninterrupted - apart from the odd passing plane - by the drone of engines and drunken voices.

Then I smiled, picked up my book and read.


This is a very belated entry in the wonderful Tuesday linky, 'Where I live', by Michelle who blogs as The American Resident.

Amazingly, unbelievably, I have made the shortlist of the Britmums BIBS Awards under the category, Lifestyle. I am so ruddy grateful to everyone who voted for Older Mum in a Muddle. Now if you would like to see me in the Lifestyle final six, then please, please, please vote for me one final time. The champagne is on me if I make it this far...... (nominations close on 12th May)

Welcome

Damn. The entire hob needs replacing - the back rings aren't safe, they're worn down like weathered fossils. The tiny electric shower head coats water like flour through a sieve, light and drizzly. Damp pock marks the pink wall in Little A's bedroom. Why hadn't we noticed this during the viewings? Today the sink flooded the kitchen floor. At the moment, I can hear the drip, dripping into the bucket underneath the piping.

When one rents, the property usually works.

When one buys, well, like a treasure hunt of errors, there are often lots of niggles to be found.

Welcome to our new home.

We wanted a project. And now we have one.

And I absolutely love living here.

At long last Little A has a garden. I can watch clothes floating like tethered kites on the line, drying in a mid afternoon breeze. It's such a novelty living in a house, not a flat. I walk upstairs to bed. I walk downstairs to breakfast. The kitchen is on the same floor as the living room - in our old flat, the kitchen had been carved into the attic space, casseroles made with wide views of tiles and chimneys from the small roof window.

The move. Sweat and dust, lots of dust. The men in blue t-shirts arrived at 9.00 am, climbing stairs, carrying boxes, a line of worker ants. In a matter of hours they were done, their lorry filled with the complete history of our family of three. Then, potential disaster, "Mummy, mummy, I can't find Peso." Peso is Little A's rabbit, her favourite teddy. "Don't worry, he'll be in a box somewhere." "But mummy, I want him NOOOOW." Think. Think. Think. Solution. Fast. Younger Dad doesn't like my idea, but it's the best option. On our way to our new home, I take a detour into Chiswick, to a toy shop on Turnham Green, a shop with an entire row of Peso's. "Oh s'ankyou mummy, I'm going to call this one Pinto." Now she's a happy bunny for the forty minute trip up the M40 and beyond.

The first evening Little A's bedroom is assembled, our bed made, old curtains loosely hung over the bay window rails. Peso is recovered from a card box box marked essentials. We eat fish and chips soaked in ketch-up out of the paper. We share a thick melting chocolate ice cream in the back garden. A swig of cool beer straight from the bottle tastes so good.

In bed that night, something irks Younger Dad, like an itch on the ball of a well socked foot tightly laced in a walking boot. "You've got to be kidding me... why hadn't this come up on my research... this is totally doing my head in." The echoing neeeeeoooooows are unmistakable. We have moved under the flight path of airborne traffic headed north east of Heathrow. It just so happens tonight is particularly busy, a neeeeeoooooow every five minutes. "Stop laughing would you....." I think it's hilarious, a home from home, a reminder of our life in West London.

The kitchen is unpacked. The living space made homely by a few choice paintings, the all important mantel piece looks inviting - the 'welcome' cards, the wedding present by my best friend, H, taking centre stage. We have shifted the many remaining boxes against a wall in the lounge - there are big plans afoot, projects that are likely to begin this year - an extension, maybe a double, at the rear, a master bedroom in the loft.

Of course there are repairs that need immediate attention, but we are living and breathing and functioning in our wonderful new home. And the best part is that Little A is settled and happy - she's really enjoying her new preschool, her new friends. She sculpts faces, makes puzzles out of the tawny pebbles covering the patio and pathway areas of the garden. She glides up and down the laminate flooring on her scooter. She looks forward to play dates with her little cousins, a five minute walk away.....

I think we are going to be here for a long, long time.  


Amazingly, unbelievably, I have made the shortlist of the Britmums BIBS Awards under the category, Lifestyle. I am so ruddy grateful to everyone who voted for Older Mum in a Muddle. Now if you would like to see me in the Lifestyle final six, then please, please, please vote for me one final time. The champagne is on me if I make it this far...... (nominations close on 12th May)

Snowed Under

It's time for a spring clean - ironic really, given the snow flurrying outside, that I'm wearing an extra pair of bed socks, an additional woollen maternity cardigan hanging over my stripey jumper.

Should it really be like this at the end of March? Younger Dad doesn't seem to think so. But I can still remember the long, extended, snowy winters of my childhood - the 1970's - white Easters with big fat wet flakes settling on the lawn, hiding the purple crocuses, confusing the migrated birds - home from sunnier climes.

And so to the clean up.... not my wardrobe, or Little A's toys, or Younger Dad's pile of Which magazines, but my on line mail. For the last year or so, I've woken to the bold black list of numerous unread emails choking my inbox, a stress inducing sight first thing in the morning - How many are there to read today? Where will I find the time? - over a-would-be calming bowl of porridge (with added fruit). But today I completed the changes I've been making over the last few days - there will be no more posts raining on my yahoo account screaming READ ME, READ ME. I love the blogs I've subscribed to but it was becoming overwhelming - like piles and piles of homework. So I've moved all my reading over to Blog Lovin - please don't be offended if you see I've unsubscribed to you, I'm now enjoying your posts over there.

This evening my inbox was like a freshly mown lawn, trimmed and tidy. Now I just need to deal with the few unexpected weeds - those requests from PR's and marketers asking for endless plugs that are totally at odds with the theme of my blog. Can you see 'How to Improve Your Financial Savings' nestling along side Once Upon a Time and One Week? No. Neither can I.  

And that, sadly, apart from two delightful evenings spent in lovely female company, has been the highlight of my week. My inbox. You see, I'm stressed at the moment - very stressed. I've taken to resting as much as I can for a mummy and eating one too many M&S chocolaty bites. The house move is taking it's toll, and there has been other unfortunate news too. The move was set to take place the beginning of April but the date of completion is slipping ever in the wrong direction. And we are in the dark as to what is happening further up the chain - Have their mortgages been fully approved? Have all the surveys been completed? Our seller's solicitor is being vague with our solicitor, our buyers worry we are going to pull out, we are stressing the same of them, our seller is being unnervingly quiet - I think she's stalling, I fret about the chain staying intact... and so it goes on and on.

I dearly want to move into our new home. I love the area we are relocating to - the family connections, the schools, the slower pace of life.

If the upper chain falls apart - please, no, no, no - we have decided to sell our flat, up sticks, and rent in Croxley Green. In the meantime, if the completion date moves beyond the 12th April, I will be ferrying Little A forty minutes back and forth to her new pre-school - I've already decided I'm going to plant myself in the nearby library and write while my daughter paints and dresses up with her new friends.

I want to start sorting - organise those books that will go into storage, and the unread paperbacks that will sit on the bookshelves of our new home. I want to start packing, to hear the stretching sound of masking tape on cardboard as our memories are squeezed tightly within the boxes. Limbo. Limbo. Limbo.

Blimey, I'm wound up like a spring at the moment - which brings me back to today's unseasonal weather.

Spring - where are you? Please come soon. Come brighten up my day. Bring us hope and a house move with your sunshine. Please...

If you enjoy reading Older Mum in a Muddle, please spare a thought for me in the Britmums Brilliance in Blogging Awards - The BIBS - there are sixteen great categories to chose from but I think I'm best placed in the writers category. You can click on the badge below to take you through to the nomination form on the Britmums page..... Thank you! X.

Limbo Land

Everything is still. Waiting. Quiet. Even the opened daffodils - big, loud, yellow trumpets - stand silently in the thin cylindrical glass vase on the kitchen table.

The fruit bowl's contents are over ripe and ageing. A pear has a squashed bottom like it's wearing a sodden nappy. Three bananas are blemished with leopard spots. There are apples - Eden's rejects - beyond temptation, their wrinkly skins predicting dry, unappetising first bites - their cores probably browning with unflappable demise.    

And I'm sat in a kind of limbo - not quite here, not quite there.

In fact we all are - Younger Dad, Little A and I.

I try to ignore the peevish whispers from the bookshelves 'pack me, pack me, pack me.' And I know how they feel - it's time to leave - to move into the new chapter of our lives, a brand new home for our family of three.   

When will the contracts exchange? It's just paper twiddling and signing dotted lines damn it. 

I am not made of patient stuff.

And Little A is both excited and confused, vacillating between 'mummy I'm going to live near my cousants (cousins)' and 'mummy I don't want to leave our flat.' There have been numerous nocturnal awakenings, although I suspect I layer her with too many warm blankets - it's hard keeping track with this mild-cold-mild-freezing weather. Then there is her concept of moving, 'mummy, can I take my toys with me when the big truck comes?' 'Sweet heart,' I reply, 'you can take ALL your toys and ALL your teddies,' reassuring her with dramatic emphasis on ALL. 'Oh sank you (thank you), sank you so much mummy!'

Yesterday, I invited her to join me in a spring sort out of her toys. Save for a few baby board books, a wooden boat, and plastic hammer and nail set, she refused to relinquish anything. Can't say I blame her - it wasn't good timing on my part. At the moment, Little A needs familiarity around her, even if it's the comforting relics she's neither seen nor played with in over two years.  

But I know she's going to be just fine...

'Hello, I'm Little A, what's your name?' She asks a platinum blond forty something woman - maybe I should go that colour? - sat to her left at the only che' che' cafe in Croxley Green.'What are you having for lunch today?' The woman turns to the little person on her right. She smiles warmly, taken aback by Little A's chutzpah, and engages my daughter about the weather and her slice of cake.

Already winning friends and influencing people.

'Mummy - loooook - I'm doing dressing up and drawing,' a shrill voice calls as I'm filling out the registration forms at her new pre-school - only a minute walk from our new home. Those contracts better exchange soon. When I look up, my eyes work hard at locating her. Ahhh there she is. I spot her in a pirates outfit painting yogurt pots alongside the other children.

She's going to enjoy living here....    

'We're seeing three childminders today,' she says to the first childminder we meet, 'can I do some painting now?' Paint brush in hand, Little A makes a colourful mess at a table in a sunlit conservatory. I carry on with the interview - she's very friendly, flexible, loaded with qualifications. Half way through, a little voice pipes up, 'can you read to me now?' The minder chooses a Barbie book - not my preferred choice - and proceeds reading about the size zero doll's morning routine.

She's not backwards in coming forwards.

'Can I have some lunch - can I have cheese on toast too?' Only ten minutes earlier, we'd arrived at the second childminder's home just as she was preparing food. 'Of course you can - settle yourself in a chair,' the minder replies. Little A sits herself at the kitchen table. She's accompanied by a baby in a high chair and the minder's very wilful daughter - same age as Little A - strapped in a booster seat. Little A is presented with beautifully cut melted cheese triangles - an alternating combination of cheddar and red leicester - positioned just so, overlapping, around the edge of the plate. In the middle, there's a delicate arrangement of salad  leaves, tomatoes and cucumber like the air is carrying them. These are toddlers you're feeding. A heated exchange erupts. 'You're strapped in... you're strapped in.... potatoes bobatoes...you're strapped in.' 'No I'm not, I'm sitting in a normal chair,' retorts Little A. 'You're strapped in.... You're strapped in.' 'No I'm not,' Little A dismounts her chair and walks to the other end of the table, 'See, look, I'm not strapped in.' The minder and I are thinking the same thing - this clash can never happen again. Ever.

She can stand up for herself.

--------------

So we have much in place - a preschool, a childminder*, the removal firm - preparing Little A for her new life as a home counties girl. But until we have the keys to our new home, we're inhabiting a sort of a domestic no mans land. Hurry up solicitors, get a blinking move on would you!

In the mean time, I'll water the daffodils and buy some fresh fruit.

*We chose the third childminder - the one with an extra assistant, well selected books and mellow pre-schoolers.

#One Week - Winter '13 - Cold End

What I wanted was a slow, reflective winter, one of calm and stillness. A season where I could stand back and appreciate the things around me - sit bundled up, cosy, on a sofa, sinking into a good book, and a warming mug of cocoa.

What I got was anything but, and actually #oneweek this winter has been a challenge, I've hardly had chance to stand still. I've barely noticed the snow flurries. But I have felt the cold.

And at times I've lacked  the inspiration to get out and about - winter isn't my favourite season.

The last few months have been swallowed by the move - selling our flat, buying a new home, and not forgetting, the accident. Now we have the task of clearing and boxing. Contracts are set to exchange middle of March with a moving date - fingers crossed - during the first week of April.

But it has been a time for gathering ideas, and writing - lots of writing. I've made a promising start on my first novel, Four Gigs, and have begun a new blog - I'm completely insane - to help track my progress, or is that just a canny ruse for procrastination? Younger Dad has accurately observed that blogging is 'my new job'. I'm writing everyday, and I guess I'm really beginning to feel like I am a writer, a proper one. I've even booked a one day writing retreat in the East End on 10th March. Yes, that's Mothers Day, so I wanted to hole myself away somewhere quiet and do what I love the most - apart from being a mummy - writing...

And there's a lot to feel positive about my blog at the moment. It was short listed as a blog to watch in 2013 by A New Generation, and nominated in the MADS - delightful compliments!

The other day I was strolling in the park, Little A gliding ahead of me on her scooter, when I came across a blanket of yellow and purple crocuses, a reminder that spring is only weeks away. Or is it? Come March, a tug of war will commence between winter and spring - last year winter emerged the decisive victor. But the shoots are here, the daffodils early....

....oh spring, you are such a tease.

This is the final day of the seasonal linky One Week. I wanted to say a big, big thank you to all those lovely bloggers who joined in, and those who commented, and tweeted, in support of this project.

One Week will return this spring for another five days, 3 - 7 June. So get your cameras at the ready and imaginative hats on!

For more details about One Week, take a gander here. You can join in for one, two ... or the full five days...

Badge Code ...

<a href="http://older-mum.blogspot.co.uk/p/one-week.html" title="One Week"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8436/7807711152_5f912c7903_m.jpg" width="225" height="169" alt="one week" /></a>

For Sale

Offered to anyone - ANYONE - is this curiously presented and never before seen first floor, lovingly converted two double bedroom period flat. This property retains many of it's original features like doors, windows and a tiled roof. There are plug sockets and a cooker if you should so feel domestically inclined. This charming property is centrally heated. However it's always a good idea to keep a scarf, mittens and thermal undergarments on hand, as you never know what might happen when those bitter easterly winds gust through the rafters. This rare to the market property is surrounded by transport - cars, taxis, buses, bicycles, prams to name a few, and the local skies provide wonderful opportunities for plane spotting, day and night.

So shall we take a look inside? And if you aren't partial to brown, beige or cream, here's a pair of tinted glasses to help obscure any offensive furnishings. Remember, keep an open mind, it's all about the space inside.

Take off your shoes first please, you wouldn't want their soles sullied by the glue and snot melded on the woollen mix cream carpets now would you? Attach these plastic bags to your feet, and here are some elastic bands to keep them firmly in place. Don't worry, they won't obstruct your blood flow.

So first we have this double bedroom. This is currently where the little nipper sleeps. As you can see, there are four walls and a window. Unfortunately, this property doesn't come with the spotty chest of drawers. If you look closely at the carpet you can just make out the toddler's delightful artwork, she's really created quite a subtle abstract effect with about 20 mls of calpol. See those swirls right there? I think this adds character and real depth to this property.

Next is the bathroom. Now if you don't like the clean look, and would prefer a more organic feel, just rip the whole lot out and house a bucket in the corner. You might want to keep the tiles though, stripes are apparently this season's fashion must.

Now don't you just love this master bedroom? Ah, I see you are wearing the tinted glasses. Yes, there is a lot of brown in here, but I think this gives a cosy, nay, almost muddy waterhole feel of bathing with hippos. Don't you think this really transports you to another world? Ah, a poker face I see - but I bet there's lots going on underneath? To your right, the dark caramel walls are offset by this very commonly used feature wall. Some advice - don't stare at it when you're inebriated.  And see that fireplace? An excellent spot for housing deodorant or hairspray or your alarm clock even.  

Now this is the property's W.O.W factor - this very spacious lounge. Still wearing those tinted glasses? Good for you - a sense of humour I see! Now there is so much potential here. What you could do is go completely open plan by knocking through every wall, apart from the exterior of course, erect some vertical supports - a few strategically placed columns of heavily bound cook books should suffice, we don't want the roof falling in - and create one big happy eating, bathing, sleeping, toileting space for all those wonderful memories you are sure to manufacture in this welcoming home.

And if you turn around you'll see a stair case. That's your exercise sorted. No thrombosis. No heart attacks. This flat has it all! Now would you like to accompany me upstairs?

I hope this snow flurry isn't putting you off. It's only seasonal. Remember what I said about keeping a spare set of thermals on you? Just wait till you see what this kitchen does in the summer! Now as I've already said, there's plenty of great potential in this property. If you climb out of the kitchen window you could transform an unpretentious area about three foot long and thirty inches wide into a neighbourly look-out that will accommodate one person standing, binoculars, a cup of tea and a medium sized house plant. This could indeed add further value to this property.

(There's also a fully boarded loft area, home to a hungry and constantly flatulent Gruffalo.)

As an added bonus, the sellers have agreed to leave all their take-away menus, a few freezer bag clips, the BT phone book, and a hand written address list of local cake shops in what could become your personal messy drawer.  

So how does this property grab you? Still a poker face I see. Well I need to let you know that I will be expecting a number of competitive offers come Monday morning, so you might want to have a good, hard think over the weekend.

And before you leave, please could you return the tinted glasses, plastic bags and elastic bands - I have another viewing in ten minutes.