When Man Foxtel was here the other day, he commented on a touch of damp under the house, as he pointed to a pair of muddy knees attached by thigh to his torso. He also said that in the vast caverns beneath, tucked in every corner, nook and recess there are vast volumes of firewood stashed.
Aside from the wood, I knew immediately the truth of his observation, because it aligned perfectly with the damp smell along the corridor and in Dad's room that I have actively been trying to ignore.
But today, as the summer rains continued to fall, I found the garage was also full of water, resulting in the joyous task of unpacking wet, archived boxes, and repacking contents in a different location.
NOT WHAT I WANTED TO DO TODAY.
So now we have to get a plumber in. Bloody flup.
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