Last night I went with the ex to view a property for purchase in Forest Hill (has such a romantic ring to it, doesn’t it?).
We walked up the staircase and it smelt a lot like an old bawa’s house, slightly musty, fusty and damp. I can’t explain it more clearly, but if you’ve ever taken piano lessons from some old bawi you’ll know what I’m talking about.
I have to say I rather like the smell, fond memories and all that.
The ex wasn’t impressed, I suppose you wouldn’t really want to invest in it.
Left some marinated chicken on the tube by accident. I feel like kicking myself.
Dammit that was supposed to be lunch……or dinner. Shit.