Thursday, 20 December 2007

Wet Windows

We've got really wet windows this time of year, understand why it happens with old sash windows, particularly in bedrooms where we breathe in our sleep, (well I'm hoping that's what the children do at night rather than run downstairs and watch snooker), but why does it happen in our newer windows in our living room? May simply just be 'cos they are damp, but blowed if I can figure out how to sort that out. Living room windows do face sea, and when stormy weather comes in from the sea, rain actually penetrates the windows.

We're not alone in this in Hastings, really barmy, did not know windows were sometimes permeable. P'raps it would not happen in my now fantasy ideal new home, which would be in the suburbs, Blacklands its called here, with fake pillars outside, and little bay trees with classy little fairy lights on them for Christmas decorations. It'd also have a separate little den, which would be very cosy, and heating would only be on for five minutes to warm up whole house. It also would not get very dirty as paint and plaster would not fall off the walls, and there would be no dirty fire. This cleanliness of house would mean we could have a very pale cream carpet throughout the house, which would never get cat hairs on. No one would ever drink coffee, apart from on the designer breakfast bar to minimise spills, and no one would ever ever drink blackcurrant squash (rots teeth anyway) and certainly not red wine.

I'd also have amusing neighbours who would drop in with wondeful anecdotes about their delightful children and gorgeous husbands and partners. Of course I would have a gay neighbour who would be the most amusing, in a real stereotypical way. He could sit in my kitchen with a bottle of designer water, and discuss his favourite type of fabric box with me.

And of course in my fantasy new house I would be dressed almost all in Boden, with a couple of a darling little bargains picked up whilst in East London. And no one would ever accidentally poo in their slipper (aka daughter couple of days ago), sick up bourbon biscuits in their hair (again daughter couple of weeks ago), or have horrid snot coming out of nose (Ol this morning). Oh and finally ironing would be done by Lady Who Does. And husband would never break anything, and make the absolute ideal gin and tonic.

Please can I click my heels three times and go there. You can all be in the suburban sit com too, just with no dirty noses or bottoms please.

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