Upstairs. Downstairs.

A few days ago I was working in my room when Mum came bolting in, slightly crazed, having just been shocked out of a gentle doze by an almighty explosion.


"What was that?", she demanded.  


I didn't know what she was talking about, which when stated in those terms was as a red rag to a bull. However after a few minutes of heated exchanges, mostly at cross purposes, the wild accusations ceased and the conversation shifted to mutual gladness about how sound-proof the House at Porter Street is.


And life went on.


Yesterday morning we discovered the probable source of the aforementioned explosion.  A west facing window - 5mm glass - in Mum's pine box developed a fairly substantial and undeniably jagged 250mm crack, from the bottom left corner extending toward the centre.


We opted for a glazier we found in the local paper.  He asked us to SMS him the dimensions so he could give us a price.  We're still waiting to hear back.  So in the meantime we googled, found a big brand glass company, and the panel has already been replaced - exactly 2 hours and $344 after the call was made.


Hopefully there won't be too many more surprises now that's been fixed.  Not upstairs anyway.


The other surprise, is downstairs:  the lands beneath.

I need to get myself into a spider and dirt resistant body suit and hat, and purge our nether regions of the wood and refuse the previous owners have hoarded.  Or at least find a way of making it manageable.  I'm not expert, but surely this mess can't be helping with the damp...


Anyone need some firewood?