... and one of the unexpected consequences of our unofficial house-hunt has been:
A heightened appreciation of how nice our own place is.
So maybe we simply need to cut a deal with Grumpy Old Man and get on with building a staircase up to the first floor....??
(this rather original but nonetheless feasible idea was voiced by GOM himself only last week.
Pretexting a bag of rubbish that needed to be dumped in the communal bin, he shuffled over and mumbled something cryptic about his dodgy old ticker and the fact he felt "the end might be approaching". Took us a while to figure out what he was getting at, but we think he might have been trying to sell us his flat.
"Anyway, we'll talk about it more when the day comes... but it won't be long," he sighed with melo-dramatic weariness.
Hum, right.
In my experience, people like GOM - the ones with a hundred different ailments and a "death's just round the corner for me" tale of doom - usually end up staggering on into their late 90s).
No staircase just yet.
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