We think we may have mentioned before the time lag between signing for ownership of The Homestead and actually taking up residence. By the end of the six months it took the legal eagles/bankers/we-shall-not-be-moved tenants to sort themselves out, gypsy life had worn thin, winter had set in, and the easily contained toddler we had set out with had turned into a rising-two-year-old whirlwind.
When the fateful day came to actually enter the house we were collectively under-awed. Wandering from room to room, we became more and more disillusioned with the chaos wrought by previous inhabitants, until we all ended up in the living room; some of us may or may not have been in tears.
“This carpet,” The Bean Counter’s voiced echoed around the empty room as he scuffed his foot on the suspiciously stained, burn pocked, one-step-up-from-astro turf floor covering, “will be the first thing to go.”
Finally, nearly eight years later,
the room was cleared and his proclamation realised.
New carpet: so warm, so snug, and so worth the wait.