Updating my blog from work during lunch, something I swore I'd never do. But, since I'm only here for eight more days, I can probably afford to be a bit reckless.

We checked out of the B&B this morning; the estate agent has promised us that the electricity will be sorted out at home by this evening. We are trying as hard as we can to believe her.

The B&B (run by an Irish couple named Mary and Joseph) was very comfortable. Certainly a lot more comfortable than our house. But it has been a real pain carrying clothes and homework and that sort of thing back and forth, so I am desperately hoping that we will actually be able to sleep in our own beds tonight. I do worry, though, given the scary state of the house in general, and the tangle of wires in the basement in particular, that the electricity man may take one look and say he can't connect the electricity, let alone certify it as safe, so we'll have to find somewhere else to live entirely ...

Oh, and before you ask, no, I didn't mention a basement before. That is because I didn't know that the mysterious door in the living room - the one I'd thought was a cupboard door - actually led down a rickety, dusty flight of stairs to a basement, home of our fuse box. A basement which, despite the fact that is accessed only from our living room, belongs to the chemist next door. A basement which, among other things, holds containers marked "Biohazard. Dispose of by incineration only."

I'm telling you, this is the strangest house I have ever lived in.