Oh, no, sir. You can't have those floor tiles in the kitchen. They may have been hand-made by eu-subsidized Spanish artisans, but they're too thick. Try something with less character.Eventually we got the ones Jof first found and liked, for she was supposed to choose anyway.
At school kicking-out time, Erin pestered her mum to come to the park for Park Thursday and we all trooped back to our house for an inspection.
Erin had inspected it before we even bought it so she could tell the difference: she got bored in the garage, looked at the cacti, and came up to my room to play car-arranging.
Meanwhile Barry the Builder (can't afford Bob) brought Ron the Roofer and they talked about roof slates. The electrics man has connected the whole downstairs so we don't have to have extension cables snaking everywhere: the garage now has light and the loft works as well. 
The builders have plastered lots and they have started on the kitchen floor and oh dear there's a lot of painting to do. I have elected to have my bedroom shelves painted red and yellow.
But it was still Thursday so we all hit the park (bonus Erin - don't often get one of them) and got 2 hours of running around, a mass game of football with Ben and the JBs and random kids various, and quite a lot of chasing-the-suspiciously-older-teenagers around the park.
Not absolutely sure why we have developed a connection with them.
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