Stuffed.

There are no words.  (The words I do can not utter relate to the nether lands).  I donned my cap and tracky dacks, borrowed Papou's torch, and ventured beneath again today.  Why?  I shrug a little and ponder.  Perhaps in the hope that exposure to the full catastrophe would inspire some sort of plan.  Some scheme to move us closer to a resolution.


Resolution?  Resolution of the damp.  Resolution of the fire hazard.  Resolution of the compulsion to purge every blessed corner of this abode of the unhealthy spectre of those who resided here before.

Alas and alack.  

The scale of the task is truly daunting.  There are cobwebs like ropes.  Spiders the size of a small staffordshire bull terrier, enough wood for a fleet of The Arks, lorry-loads of pine cones, kindling enough for a collective noun of Rudyards, roofing tiles, pipes, nylon netting, piles of bricks, buckets, did I mention planks?

I think he's down there as well.  Milo's Monster.

To be frank, I just don't have the first clue about where to start.


I kept telling myself "just start".  But then where to I put all the mountains of stuff when its out?  


Hey (brain cogs are churning) I wonder if the chook shed's dry...


Perhaps that's it.  Maybe the chook shed will be our salvation.  Tomorrow morning I shall investigate.


I feel a little buoyed.


Thanks.  Better.