Rob's Dream

[ailbhe]

Last night, Rob dreamed about buying a nice, big house. It was in Reading, which is where we already live, so it would have been very convenient. This house had turrets and crenellations, and an old-fashioned burgundy-and-leather-armchairs library, where the dark, antique oak bookcases are doors that lead into secret rooms which contain yet more books (the secret room was well-lit, with a light-blue trim, doors at either end, and cheerful, airy windows). It had a spacious and well-equipped kitchen, including large central roasting-pit, suitable for spit-roasting an entire pig (though lamentably unsuitable for a whole ox; you'd have to stop at a fatted calf). The pit was triangular, and lined with terracotta tiles up to the drainage channel around the edge (for the blood and the fat, one supposes). Diane Duane and Peter Morwood were hoping to sell for about 300,000 UKP; they didn't want to have to move any of the books, which may have been why the price was so good. Not many people would want to move into a house that already contained two large rooms full of books. There was one other couple interested in buying the house; friends of ours who were in the next room discussing the price. Rob woke up as he was about to open, ah, negotiations with me, along the lines of "we have to find the money for this place or die". He wanted to get our offer in first.

As you do.