I got home from Ireland last night to about the most amazing homecoming possible.
While I was gone, my main floor completely changed. The main floor is entirely hardwood. The walls have paint on them. (Brown or green or maybe both.) The ceiling was painted too. All the light fixtures were replaced. Instead of just leaving the art lying around, it's now on the wall, like most people do it. I've got the geese in the dining room, a Yvon Goulet corner in the living room, and Cor's piece is by the stairs - it's the first thing you see when you come in.
I understand that the renovations were a group effort, but that Martin and Ken did most of the work, and the work they did was so incredibly good, they could easily ditch being chefs to work in construction.
My brother-in-law recorded me coming home. Yes, I'm posting a video of myself, but this shows my level of shock.*
Click to view
* It also shows me travel-addled and stinky after spending the day being flung across the ocean from Heathrow in an overstuffed tin can. If I'd known I was going to be recorded when I got home, I would have freshened up before leaving the airport, or at least thrown my contact lenses in.