I didn't mean to rip up your carpet, honest.
I was just curious to see what was underneath, and the next thing I knew,
Two rooms-worth of carpety corpse dust were tucked furtively in the back of the ute, and I was feeling shocked at my own temerity.
However, if I can be brutally honest here for a moment, that carpet would never have done anything other than suck badgerfruit.
The carpet guy who sold it in the 1970s would have laughed his head off thinking anyone would even buy it in the first place, it was so nasty.
And it's got a whole lost nastier since then. It made the house smell sad and lonely.
Which is not how a house should ever have to feel.
Turns out your floors are Very Rough.
Much too rough for sanding.
And you have/have had a nasty case of borer,
Which might explain why the floors felt like ginger fluff,
And I kept feeling like I was going to fall down through the carpet,
Straight into the waiting arms of Freddy Kruger...
It was a definite possibility.
So, I took a deep breath. And I painted them.
Actually, it's all Bobby La's fault.
And Miss Penpen has a lot to answer for, too,
Giving me all that late-night advice the way she did. Whatever was she thinking?
It was a Lot of Work.
Especially filling the myriad holes between the floorboards,
And you could've driven a truck under the skirtings.
I never want to look at another tube of No More Gaps as long as I live,
Though it did wonders for the Sponge Problem.
In fact, I strongly suspect that silicon is now officially holding the house up.
So, my Dear Landlord, I'm sorry I took such liberties,
But, as a devout and committed yogi,
dedicated to ishwara pranidhana via prolonged and persistent asana and pranayama,
I can only say, in my defense, that
Your floors are now FUCKING FABULOUS to sit on.