We went to have another look at the tumbly down house. I still loved it and it was still kind of terrible. Perhaps it's because I like the idea of making a sad house into a home again. That's something I'm going to have to lose; we need to think of practical matters, like plumbing and whether it has postwar wiring, and whether the living areas will catch the light. It was good though, G liked it too and the dereliction didn't put him off. Indeed, I think it rather excited him. Although he was very serious about how much he thought the work would cost. And I know that with estimations of time and money, I need to double the money and quadruple the time.
This time I took photos, but most of them are too sad. It looked there was a woman's touch that stopped somewhere in the sixties, or early seventies. And that from then on not much changed. Including dusting. In the laundry there were piles of socks hanging from a rail. You could see it in the garden too, the remanents of someone's effort and pride. The agent said that the old man's carers were going to come and clean it out, and I wondered why you wouldn't do that before the open for inspections. The light's wrong in this house, well not unless the floor plan was totally rearranged, so even if we could afford it, this one's not for us. I'm going to have to learn how to detach.