Nothing could have prepared me for the devastation as I opened the door to my former home. My family tried hard to mask their disbelief but I could tell that they too were pretty upset.
After a lengthy and may I add, expensive legal battle where I very nearly had to sell a kidney, Serial Shagger had at long last relinquished our house and handed the keys back to me. Although surveying the spoils of war around me, it was obviously a hollow victory.
Now gazing around at the destruction, to say that the house was nothing short of a building site would have been a serious understatement. Fireplaces and walls had been ripped out leaving gaping holes and scaffolding where they had once been. The bathroom lacked a bathroom suite and one of the bedrooms a floor.
As most of you will know I am no builder but common sense would dictate that one room should have been completed before tackling the next project and leaving the entire house in such disrepair.
A warning look from my sister prevented my Dad from suggesting a nice few shelves although exactly where he was planning to erect them was going to be a problem on account of having no internal walls to secure them to.
Hobo, one of our family cats, who’d accompanied us on the walk through the village to my new hovel, seemed the least unperturbed by the décor and as he wasn’t big in the grooming department, a lick and a spit every two weeks usually sufficed, he certainly wasn’t going to be losing sleep over the lack of bathing facilities. However, my hygiene regime was a little more stringent and I wasn’t going to be making do with the outside garden hose anytime soon.
My sister tried to cheer me by remarking that at least I hadn’t inherited someone else’s horrendous taste in wallpaper or artexed ceilings and as my Dad tried to emphasize that point by testing the sturdiness of the ceiling with an old broom, the plasterboard collapsed so that clearly wasn’t going to be a problem anymore either. Judging by the amount of work that needed doing, I was going to have to kiss goodbye to any thoughts of another sunshine Turkish holiday and possibly eating for the next century.
My mother who has a knack for stating the obvious said “well you can’t stay here, Deborah. Where would you put your toothbrush”?