Admittedly Chateau Long Dog is, as yet, unsold
for which read "I don't have the readies to buy something else"
but why let penury stand in the way of a good old nose
round someone else's gaff?
A decision, dear readers, which I and my trusty little marsupial
kinswoman are currently regretting at our leisure.
The plan was simple enough "Let's go and black our
noses at a couple of places to get some idea of
what's currently on the market here in Norfolk.
|Would that it had looked like this!|
Sound enough reasoning but unfortunately the first place
on our list of two had already been snapped up
and I wish to god we'd never agreed to view the second.
It wasn't an easy place to find even with satellite and when we
finally rocked up at the front door we were met
with a scene from Hoarders meets the Adam's family.
Get the picture?
The late lamented Mr Reed
We were just debating whether to turn tail and leg it when
the front door swung open and there stood a twitching,
heavily pierced man who made Lou Reed look cuddly.
But the worst thing was the living wall of pong
issuing from deep inside the building.
That and the dozen or so scrawny cats who were also
issuing from the building as fast as their scabby
little legs would carry them.
In we went - I was so glad I wasn't on my own -
both of us hoping that we wouldn't be offered anything
to drink and trying not to brush against furniture,
walls or the occupants for that matter for fear of
First stop the downstairs cloakroom - I have the words
to describe it but would prefer not to on the grounds
that I have just eaten. Let's just say that that's
where the litter trays were, the basin could well
have belonged to Quentin Crisp (didn't you see the film -
yeuk!) and thankfully something was stopping the door
from opening fully so we were spared a full frontal
encounter with - the john!
The kitchen was where the cats were fed although I don't think
anyone had washed up a dish this century yet and it's
2014 already. Sink - don't go there, ditto worktops
if you can actually locate them under all the filth.
The piece de resistance was the living room.
He even apologised for it being a bit untidy, there was
a distinct smell of illegal substances and joss sticks
burning all around. But the thing which really freaked
us both out was when a disembodied female voice
began to speak to us from somewhere under all the stuff on
the sofa. Run for it Scooby!
I can't wait to give the agent my feedback
- I shall be spelling it the old Anglo Saxon way with two F's.
Let's have a bit more of Lou - "Such a perfect day etc ..."