I feel like I'm living some kind of half and half life at the moment - there's the ordinary me doing the ordinary stuff, watching crap on the tv, going to appointments, watching more crap on the tv, then there's the covered in an appealing mixture of plaster dust and sweat, random ripped pieces of soggy wallpaper stuck to my feet bit of me, doing all manner of very grown up things like dealing with energy performance certificates and gas meters and
lintels lyntals lintels window related stuff (although clearly spelling is still beyond me). Logically I'm not sure why owning a place should feel so different to renting one, but it does. Maybe because the bungalow was a new build, so this hundred and thirty something year old house is the first time Mr and I have found ourselves stripping away layers of someone else's life together, while sipping numerous cups of tea and sharing chips wrapped in paper and commenting knowledgeably about the condition of the plaster under all the wallpaper.
Okay, that's my random thought of the day. Back to the walls.
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