The House

When we moved here, it had been a family home to a couple with five children, the children had grown up and left, the couple divided the house in two and rented half, then the husband died. The wife loved the house, and her husband's garden, his pride and joy, and as time went by and her family wanted to move her to a more convenient home, she hung on. Prospective buyers were turned away, especially if they viewed the garden as a 'good bit of building land', and eventually her children, desperate, moved her anyway and the old place stood empty. It was too tempting for squatters, who did a bit of damage, which gave the children the lever to persuade their mum to let go.
When I came along, the house was hidden by a jungle of garden, invisible from the road. Like the sleeping beauty's castle, it hid its charms. I declared that I would love the garden, not change a thing, and would enjoy bringing it back to my former glory, and the elderly lady allowed me to prize the keys from her nostalgic hands.
The house was mine.

It had suffered from the years of neglect. The two central heating boilers didn’t work unless they felt like it, the drafts round old windows created a wind tunnel effect through the house, roofs let in water, creating interesting waterfall effects in the dining room and on the stairs, electrics and plumbing were eccentric and beyond fathoming.
The house was still divided into two, and the glorious moment when we finally broke through and were able to see the house as a whole was a very thrilling one.

Now, we're having work done on the house. I’m so pleased to be getting it done, but I like peace and quiet. There are men on the roof, men in cupboards, men with clipboards in the garden. I just want my home back, but I know it’s for the best.
And it will be wonderful when it’s done.