Hmmm. So we came back from the pub late last night full of what Enid Blyton would have called high spirits. There are still no curtains at the hoors window.
Blind to the dangers of climbing onto window sills, the boy and I drunkenly levered eachother up onto the hoors windowsill so that we could look over the grubby lace screen, and peered in and saw…
*a pause of great drama*
Not ae thing. No furniture, no carpet, not even a bloody lightbulb (for perhaps they took with them all they could get).
I'm really starting to think they’ve been chucked out!