A kind neighbour knocked at the door today to introduce himself and to deliver a bag of figs from their fig tree, 2 halloumi cheeses, a huge watermelon (for the children) and a bottle of brandy he'd just brought back with him from a recent trip to Cyprus. So kind.
Yet, so ashamed am I of our wreck of a home that I find myself saying thanks from the doorstep with my head wedged between the smallest possible opening of the door I can create in order to hide the dirty battered, woodchip walls which cover the extent of the hallway, the bare gap-ridden floorboards and the tatty stair well where we've ripped up carpets beyond. I know I shouldn't care, it is a building site after all, but I do.
After profusely thanking him I said we would invite them over for a coffee once things were a little further forward (understatement being my strong point). As I closed the door I found myself pondering just when that might be.
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