There’s an ominous thumping downstairs as I write this, but it’s not the builders who moved in when our sons moved out in September and who have been here ever since. Finally, work is staggering to a long-overdue end, meaning days of drilling and banging are only occasional.
Everything should be quiet, and recently – for whole, wonderful hours at a time – it has been. I have sat near-delirious with happiness, hearing nothing other than the occasional sparrow chirrup. Not right now, though, because my husband has replaced drilling with BBC Radio 1.
