For the past week, Mercurial Marshall has repeatedly marvelled over the fact that I actually took over the running of such a large establishment when I first arrived. Far from hiring a good-sized estate such as Netherfield, our footloose bachelor prefers something simpler in the form of a cosy crofter's cottage.
Of course I wouldn't suggest dealing with such an enormous place all on my own. The combined efforts of my cohabitants, along with the weekly ministrations of our housekeeper Maid Mumbles and the occasional visits from the wandering gardener, is all that's needed to keep this ancient establishment standing.
Yes, you need to invest in the place just a little.
Otherwise Netherfield would start to resemble other ramshackle rented residences where faded doors are coming apart, broken windows lie ajar and the ceiling fixtures lie in tragic disrepair. Quite a common sight when it comes to those who refuse to part with a blessed cent for just a little upkeep.
Paul : Hiring a cleaner?
Marshall : Doubt I'll need that. Maybe just sweep once a week.
Paul : And the grass out on the lawn?
Marshall : Nothing wrong with some wild grass.
Paul : Maybe you should slap on some new paint. Would definitely brighten up the place.
Marshall : Much too expensive.
Paul : How about some rugs or carpets? Maybe a new standing lamp for the living room?
Marshall : Nah, it's okay. I'll just spend more time in the bedroom anyway.
Paul : I can already imagine what your previous place looked like.
Takes a lot of sweat, some effort and a bit of investment to turn a house into a home. Ignore the fact that it might be rented - and focus on the fact that you'll be living there for at least a couple of years.
Basically you really have to be a house-proud matron.
Occasionally - at least every once in a while - one of the frequent visitors to Netherfield would add a comment on the guestbook praising us denizens for the excellent housekeeping. Such unanticipated accolades never fail to put a smile on my face. Since far from taking pride in myself, I find myself quite a failure actually. Seriously, wait till you meet my mother.
Just moments after landing here, out she marches from the bedroom with her cleaning pail, that horrid mop and the ubiquitous industrial bleach. Despite my endless admonishments that I hadn't flown her here to be my mistreated charwoman, the woman persists in her thankless endeavours since nothing but the absolute shiniest floors would do for her.
I bet germs scream and flee at the sight of my mother.
Of course I wouldn't suggest dealing with such an enormous place all on my own. The combined efforts of my cohabitants, along with the weekly ministrations of our housekeeper Maid Mumbles and the occasional visits from the wandering gardener, is all that's needed to keep this ancient establishment standing.
Yes, you need to invest in the place just a little.
Otherwise Netherfield would start to resemble other ramshackle rented residences where faded doors are coming apart, broken windows lie ajar and the ceiling fixtures lie in tragic disrepair. Quite a common sight when it comes to those who refuse to part with a blessed cent for just a little upkeep.
Paul : Hiring a cleaner?
Marshall : Doubt I'll need that. Maybe just sweep once a week.
Paul : And the grass out on the lawn?
Marshall : Nothing wrong with some wild grass.
Paul : Maybe you should slap on some new paint. Would definitely brighten up the place.
Marshall : Much too expensive.
Paul : How about some rugs or carpets? Maybe a new standing lamp for the living room?
Marshall : Nah, it's okay. I'll just spend more time in the bedroom anyway.
Paul : I can already imagine what your previous place looked like.
Takes a lot of sweat, some effort and a bit of investment to turn a house into a home. Ignore the fact that it might be rented - and focus on the fact that you'll be living there for at least a couple of years.
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| Think I need to invest a little in the house. |
Occasionally - at least every once in a while - one of the frequent visitors to Netherfield would add a comment on the guestbook praising us denizens for the excellent housekeeping. Such unanticipated accolades never fail to put a smile on my face. Since far from taking pride in myself, I find myself quite a failure actually. Seriously, wait till you meet my mother.
Just moments after landing here, out she marches from the bedroom with her cleaning pail, that horrid mop and the ubiquitous industrial bleach. Despite my endless admonishments that I hadn't flown her here to be my mistreated charwoman, the woman persists in her thankless endeavours since nothing but the absolute shiniest floors would do for her.
I bet germs scream and flee at the sight of my mother.
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