They are selling the place we live in on the weekend. My head is filled with visions of shrieking children, nosy noses and palmprints all over my cupboards as the intruders (buyers) descend. And all too early on a Saturday morning.
Yes, I am lazy and should've moved out months ago. Yes, the flat was built in the 30s (with furnitures from the 1300s) and there is a cardboard box masquerading as a room in the front. But I like it and it likes me. Anyone else would scare it.
So in the process of boring holes in the FOR SALE sign with my eyes, I accidentally read it ...
... Spacious, modern, with your own personal bathroom (to match your own personal only room), magnificent retro furniture and a lovely sunroom/study/spare bedroom the size of a small island in the front ...
Everything's ok. They must be selling something else.
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