Self-inflicted:
Neighbour Inflicted
I was at work on Sunday when a hot-water pipe blowing upstairs and caving in our bathroom ceiling amongst other things. Although I missed out on the excitement of fire engines and ambulances, gushing floodwaters and scalded plumbers, the cleanup has been mine all mine. And the novelty of vacuuming a bathtub wears out pretty quickly. Also, I have no clue where half the cleaning supplies are because all the kitchen contents currently look like this:
Our current household mantra is "It could have been so much worse." Our other household mantra is "It costs £1,500 for someone to install the kitchen for you" and we trot this out whenever one of our family questions the wisdom and the sanity of Z doing the renovation work himself when he comes home from work.
So for the foreseeable future I will be doing the dishes in the bathroom and living on cheese and crackers. I hope we finish the kitchen before I die of scurvy.
It will look beautiful one day, but in the meantime it saps my will to live.
To distract myself from the mess I have taken up sewing and gave the sofa some TLC and in the shape of new cushion covers, whose crooked seams are part of their charm.