W hen we first planned the new house, back when dinosaurs roamed, I felt Dave should have a luxury. It consisted of a walk-in dressing room with a window and fitted wardrobes with sliding doors down one side. Somehow, through all the budget cuts and square metre shrinkage, the dressing room survived.
What I didn’t realise, until I recoiled with shock last week on a site visit, was that the doors came with mirrors on the outside of them. • I’m moving — to the bottom of the garden Aaaargh, but what a horrible surprise. Here was a stranger in a wheelchair, close up, full length, full width, glorious Technicolor, with ratty bed hair, a strained face and big, dirty white plimsolls.
And aaargh, yes, that.
