Today I am house hunting whilst Mr Smith plays golf in silly trousers. This really is a matter of finding something interesting in order to prevent Mr Smith buying something ghastly. I do not want to buy Granny's naff bungalow; I want the Old Vicarage or Harbourmaster's house. Well, OK, maybe my budget isn't quite that elastic but I am looking for something characterful.
Romney Marsh is so super moonscapey with Dungerness nuclear power station looming in the background. Sheep graze on the salt marshes and glow in the dark. There is a slight problem with the little local airport which is threatening to extend its runway and bring in jumbos. Ah, that explains why the properties are so cheap. The wheels of the aircraft will just clear the roofs of the houses like Hounslow. Oh well. I am sure we will get used to it. Or make a terrible mistake.
I am actually a bit tired what with all the flat selling, new job and exciting life I have been leading. I would like a little rest but Mr Smith is chivvying me to get packed up and off to Kent. Let me just curl up and have a little afternoon nap. No, Mr Smith tells me I can't go to the B&B before 4pm. Oh I hate Mr Smith's holidays.
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