It was grey and damp and dreich almost all weekend. Which coincided in a mucky way with the excavations of the kitchen. Wayne and Chris had spent most of Thursday and Friday with the digger and dump truck in the kitchen, with the result that about three quarters of the kitchen was a metre lower and all the earth that had once been beneath our feet was mostly on the driveway.
I say most of the earth was on the drive way, because of course, there was a thin patina of mud all the way across the patio and around onto the drive. Such that every time someone, or a pet, walked into either of the external doors we were using, they tracked some mud into the lounge or our teeny new kitchen. Upshot: filth. And a never-ending tide of it too.
We snapped on Saturday and spent the day cleaning the house, dusting and hoovering and tidying to make it feel slightly more pleasant to live in. We managed to keep muddy pawprints off things for all of about 20 minutes until cats tracked dirt all over the tabletops. Ah well, it made us happier.
And Sunday saw us hosted at the Miele shop in Cambridge, where predictably Islay was entranced by the top of the range cookers. I may sell a lung.
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