House Doctored

When you come home to find your bed wrapped in a duvet you've never seen, let alone slept in, and a twiggy, lighty thingy in the corner which can have no practical use whatsoever, you know you've been house doctored. Kirsty's done a fine job on her day off, but we're both knackered with this whole house-selling thing, and the bloody place isn't even on the market yet. Tomorrow, a surveyor will come and write down everything that's wrong with the building for the benefit of potential buyers (thanks, surveyor), and a photographer will come and take photographs to put on the Interweb somewhere that the increasingly scarce subspecies of housebuyer live. I predict a sale in days.

Erm. Probably.

In the meantime...

What the hell am I talking about? There is no meantime.

Bloody house.