Tipping rain drummed on the reinforced peak of my anorak as I pushed the buzzer. Nothing. I buzzed again, waited, again nothing. Stepping down from the ramshackle door, I made my way around to the back of the house, between the heaps of broken wood and junk plaster. The yard was overgrown. To the front door again, and this time a knock. The door opened.
“Are you DTRMCR?” I nodded, and was invited in. The house was huge. Vast. The grand staircase peered out from gloomy shadows, its dark banister leading up past the high ceiling to the first floor. It looked haunted.
“My dad bought the house, and now we’re renovating,” said my host. “Would you like to see the room?”
It was bigger than my whole flat, maybe 15 x 30ft, stretching across the whole of the front of the house, plus a big bay window. High ceilings, two sets of windows and a fireplace at one end. Lots of space. Lots of potential.
On the other hand, there was no living room, a tiny bathroom, and no sense a household in the house. The room would be a good room, buts that would be all that the house offered. And do I want a bedsit? Not really, no.