Mess

I guess that stink is the emulsion Karl is slapping on our bedroom wall.

No, I've just been to look. It's wallpaper paste.

No it isn't- it'll be the damp-proofing paint he's putting on under the paper.

Whatever it is, it smells like petrol- and we've got to sleep in there tonight.

Like sleeping on the floor of a garage. 

After he finishes the bedroom, he's taking a break. or, rather, we're taking a break. He's going off doing a job somewhere else. "Big bucks" he says.  A break will be good.

What I hate is the mess. Every room is a mess- with the exception of the front living-room- the one room we hardly ever use.

Where does all the mess come from? I've taken several car loads of junk to the tip, I've half filled the loft with unwanted furniture, I've filled the dust-bin week after week, and still it's there: mess- covering the floors, piled up in corners, blocking up the hallway, spread across every surface. 

Remember the door we had propped up on the landing? Yesterday I sawed it in half for ease of disposal.  Now that was fun!