Wow, how'd this topic manage to pass me by? It's the kind of self-indulgence I never shy away from. Well, let's get started.
I live in a zone-of-transition, the far from quaint suburb of Lakenham, which is filled with townies. Not even the hilarious ones you can laugh at, they're real wannabe townies. They're wannabe wannabes. The house is a typical Victorian terraced house - small and compact to save on heating, and close to the industry of the time, though I'm not sure what that was. I expect mustard isn't a bad guess.
There are three rooms on each of two floors. Both bedrooms and the bathroom are upstairs. In fact, the bathroom is right outside my room, so I can tell whether it's worth getting out of bed, and dive quickly in there when I need to tidy up. My room is teeny, with orange walls. My god, we spent ages on those walls, trying to get three shades of orange to fade into each other. Yeah, it was, uh, an attempt to emulate the skies over Necrum. Sheer fandalism, man. I drempt of Fuzzle pillows. Sheesh.
The kitchen is teeny, too. It used to be smaller, but we combined it with the larder. We added an outside toilet and porch. We would have added a conservatory by now, but we need the space clear to renovate the loft, which we never have enough money to do. We also redid the garage, made it twice the size, but still manage to fill it up to overflowing. The garden is small, but pretty in the summer. That's all the work Mum puts into it. I would love gardening, but I couldn't stand to take care of the ‘pests’.
Well, I think I ran out of interesting things to say a long time ago, so I'll try and return with pictures in the new year, when I can have access to a computer powerful enough to display pictures.
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