Get out, it's my castle

An Englishman's home is his castle, and I for one take it as a personal affront to have my space invaded.

There's a loose floorboard in the hall under the rug, which has been damaged at some point in time, or so I thought. As it sank under my heel this afternoon I thought I had better have a close inspection. Half the board had given way. Maybe a scaffolding pole damaged it when the builders were here fifteen months ago, maybe something heavy was dropped on it.

I picked the woodworm ridden bits up and sighed. Maybe the critters are live, maybe they're dead, but there is no doubt that I need to replace at least the one board and spray for good measure.

Having moved the hall table, assorted shoes, trainers and boots to get the carpet up, I thought I may as well have a really proper go with the Henry hoover. Again on close inspection I realised that my previous unwelcome house guests had made a come back. Perhaps they never left, or just moved room, but the rug is riddled and bare in patches.

Now it's well hoovered and sprayed, back and front, with environmentally friendly insecticide (ha, Cypermethrin is not so friendly for crawling and flying insects) and I hope it is saved from further damage.

I'm now in mega clear out, search and destroy mode. Get out of my house you buggers.

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