Usually I only get dressed just before I leave the house but this week I have to get dressed sooner. I can’t wander around the house in my usual selection of nightwear. Finally , after those nasty winds we had last month, the insurance company has stumped up and given the go-ahead for us to repair the roof. We aren’t on a corner but the church next-door to us is set back on its plot of land, leaving our southern extremity exposed to the elements. Most of our rear hip was loosened with a good few tiles ending up on the drive of the church. Thankfully no one was walking or driving underneath when they decided to head earthwards. On inspection the wind had managed to get under most the front hip tiles and the ridge as well so we are currently surrounded by scaffolding and likely to come face to face with a roofer if we glance outside as we open our curtains. No more wandering downstairs scantily-clad to put the kettle on, or wafting into the back garden in my deshabilles, as my grandma called it, to feed the rabbit. There is danger of bumping into the roofer who has drawn the short straw and has to come through the house and turn the garden hose and electric power on.
While they’re up there, do you think they’d do a speedy loft conversion, secretly, and create a reading, spinning, weaving hideaway for me?