I am tired. Tired of living in one room of a flat whilst the builders strip, time, sand and paint the rest of the rooms. For two weeks we still had a functioning kitchen (although covered in so much dust and grime that you wouldn't want to cook in it), bathroom and toilet. But since last weekend we haven't had a shower so I have spent every evening doing an additional commute to Frog family house for a luxurious hour in the bathroom.
All the while I've had in mind that it's okay because in a few weeks time it will all be over and we'll have our beautiful flat. Remembering also that if we left it to me and Frog to do the work we want it would take about two years. If anything happened at all.
But today, having been poked away in the suffocating bedroom working for several hours I came out of the room to discover all the rest of the doors in the flat had been taken off. Including the toilet which I could now see was pretty much looking like it had come through an earthquake and is much the worse for wear for having five builders using it over the last week in oppressive heat.
I know my mum brought me up not to be a molly coddled lambkin and to find the 'fun' in late night dashes across campsites to the communal loos. I've been to festivals. I lived and travelled in India. I have regularly experienced the standard French café loo. But I just cannot bring myself to use our own toilet. So tonight I will be crossing my legs and praying that I can hold out until I arrive in the Paris office tomorrow morning.