A new house

I'm not moving. I'm staying here. The house may be falling down and looking like a skip but it's my home. Dig, on the other hand, is in two minds. He's cruising about online estate agents in Pretty Land looking for houses for sale. He's seen a house and he wants to go and look at it. The estate agent says we can view it on Monday at 1pm. It's just a short three-hour journey up the motorway. And a short three-hour journey back.

I look at the details. Re's Cottage is tiny. It has one bedroom, bathroom and one room downstairs into which is squeezed a kitchen and sitting area. Dig's already done the calculations and reckons we can sleep six, so long as we roll up the downstairs bed before breakfast. 'It's a bolthole' he says. Which just about suggests the size of it.

During the day I'm in and out the house taking children off for individual shopping duties. Gold ribbon for the princess curtain; bikini for Shark; cheese for Tiger. All the while Dig is researching somewhere to stay for Sunday night. Eventually I get a telephone call. He's found somewhere to stay at the price I'd expect to pay for a small car, but they can do a family room in the East Wing and sleep six to the room. 'Let's have an adventure' says Dig, and I wonder if, right now, I can handle another one.