Booked in

I've known for a few years now that there was damp round the fireplace - the original, 1892 fireplace - in our bedroom. We've already dealt with similar damp problems in the other three rooms on the gable end of our house; it involves taking the damp plaster out and releasing the rubble that has fallen down over the years and created a bridge to the outside wall. This year it grew significantly worse, and by the time the dry autumn gave way to the current succession of westerly gales and rain we'd already had our builder round to poke the wall with his damp meter and make a note to come and fix it.

Now I've moved out. Several nights of relentless coughing suggests to me that I'm not able to sleep in the damp, and the builder hopes to come next week. (Yes, I know about Christmas.) Then Himself will move out too, but for now I'm coughing to myself in the spare bedroom. Only thing is, because it has a large internal wall, it's the obvious place to have bookshelves built in, and there are many, many books ...

But it's quite cosy, really. So this is the view I had this morning as I drank my tea. Instead of the gurly sea view, there were hills, but I was looking at the books. I know people who would've done something much tidier with them, but it was hard to accommodate them all - hardbacks, paperbacks, ancient books, new books - and so they're in the jumble you see here. 

Watch this space for updates on the demolition job ...