I don't know what we did. I don't know what went wrong. But the House at Porter Street has been riddled with illness for the past week. Conscious of not wanting to go into too much detail, let me put this incredibly brief tale of pestilence to rest with the word picture summoned by the expression "nose to tail gastronomy", but without the gastronomy.
I live in hope that we will all be well soon and the gripping drama of our journey can continue...
PS Friday was busy: Walter Garden came and was very grumpy. He cut the grass, poisoned the ivy and trimmed a little citrus. Frank Ducts cleaned our ducts (funny) and we were delighted to be freed from the bonds and weight of our blankets. Not so great to realise, as the house temperature peaked at 28 degrees celsius, that the thermostat doesn't work. Peter Builder showed up to replace some skirt he'd chopped off. And finally David Pool replaced a broken light in the pond. Exhausted after watching them do all that.
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