Dan came home from work last night and, after a lengthy interlude cleaning out a very old blockage from a drain over at Little House (yuck), started pulling VJs from the wall between what will be the study and what will be the kitchen.
The first pull of his crowbar on the first board brought down a shower of ancient rats' nests and faeces on his head and I could hear the unique combination of gagging and swearing from the verandah kitchen.
Stupidly, I went in there to offer support.
The smell. My God, the smell.
Suddenly, I felt very busy with other tasks based at the far end of the house.
He reappeared briefly to bark something at me about how next time I wanted to buy a 100 year old house, I could deal with its hundred year old problems. Then he grabbed the Scotch and a glass and disappeared back to the frontline.
Meanwhile, back in the trenches, verandah kitchen's new benchtop oven hasn't arrived yet so I spent the afternoon chopping veggies and dividing up portions of meat to give the slow cooker a good run over the next week or so.
Our old stove is still connected, but given the demolition going on around it, I feel it might be more hygienic to use the slow cooker for now.