I have just been reading a lengthy chapter in one of M's old motoring books on the crankshaft. Being an old book, it's beautifully illustrated with those engraving type diagrams of different kinds of crankshaft. However, the illustrations can't disguise the fact that the subject matter is, to me at any rate, mind-numbingly and fingernail-chewingly turgid. BUT even this life-sappingly deadly reading matter can provde some light relief from the scenario phtographed here. You see, M finally agreed that the ceiling should indeed come down on the dining room. So this is what happened next because it then transpired that this ceiling, too, is full of rat bedding and droppings. It all stinks like you woudn't believe. This room is going from bad to worse. We should never have gone in it. We could have just stuck a picture of how we would like it to look on the door, and distracted any more persistent visitors with the offer of yet another game of 'Nostalgia' and another glass of calvados.
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