Heavenly Beverley : What a Wonderful Week... (With a Few Unspeakable Exceptions)

The dreary skies that had plagued our brickies, Jacob and Kurtis, for an entire week, finally cleared. Frenetic activity followed forthwith and by Wednesday, the final brickwork for Station House was completed. We had another private and dirt-free front courtyard and our guest Studio had a Patio.

This Final Push has galvanised Michael into action once more. He has not been firing on all four cylinders for some time. Leigh's death in August and another reminder of grandchildren he will never see had caused him to experience cloudbursts of depressive fatigue. Now, Michael has purpose once more.

His tape measurer has emerged from the bowels of the workshop, drawing and calculations have been busily written and picket enquiries have been telephoned. His Mojo has returned after a trip to the Doldrums. His enthusiasm for constructing the picket fence and the courtyards' gates is growing. I may even allow him to paint our front door gloss white, which he really craves as a finishing touch for our Van Gogh/ Eagles' Nest/ Mediterranean in the Wheatbelt home.

Vanessa arrived with much fanfare on Monday. She declared that the bus trip had been bearable, if not almost enjoyable. A newish vehicle (no smell) with no children on board (zero screaming) allowed her to spring into our lives once more with a smile on her face.

She has demolished my mountain of ironing, produced more salads than we have eaten for quite some time, baked cakes, tackled the washing, made our bed each day (!), kept the kitchen habitable and even travelled to York yesterday so Michael could enjoy chips with his steak. What a girl!

And Pip has become her adoring shadow. We have renamed him Suckhole. Whilst we have been in the Gallery, she has taken to wrapping him in a towel so they can sit on her bed together to watch "Inspector Rex". And at night, they join us in front of the telly, Pip masquerading as a burrito so he isn't technically On the Couch. He should be nominated for an Academy Award for Most Smug Performance by a Jack Russell.

Ruby hasn't been bothered by Pip's elevation at all. Very little is detected by Ruby's radar unless her outstanding ability to sense the presence of food is alerted. She has spent her days snoring her box off in various parts of the house, waiting in seemingly endless unconsciousness, to surface instantly and snaffle a delectable morsel if it comes her way.

Madame Cat has, unknowingly, added to the Problem Child's delight in her own personal smorgasbord. We noted the cat had sustained scratches to her nose, under her eye and lost her collar. She has either been beaten up (again) or stuck her head where it was not wanted. We were slower to note that Her Feline Majesty was not leaving the house at all.

One morning, staggering to the loo, I was greeted by that unmistakable odour of Eau de Cat Pee. Plus, she had performed her ablutions under the basket that held our toilet paper. As a result, the aforementioned basket and two rolls of toilet paper had to be jettisoned due to most unpleasant consequences.

We still didn't twig...Ye Gods...The following morning, I was sleepily perched on the throne when I was greeted by an Act of Revolting Bastardry. The cat had poohed in the shower. And Ruby was devouring this unexpected sweetie with gusto.

Michael was roused out of deep slumber by my bellow of "F@#k off Ruby!" which followed as soon as my horrified eyes had deduced the frenetic activity in our bathroom. With a last ecstatic vacuum, Ruby departed the scene of her latest indiscretion. I seriously considered returning to bed and pulling the covers over my head.

Now we have a litter tray for the Cat in our bathroom. She is the messiest user of kitty litter in the known universe. Thus, trips to our loo are now involving treading on the tiny needles that Madame has spread all over the floor. I find myself longing nostalgically for Lego on the floor instead. No such luck...

The good news is that I have added to our garden of pots with some fabulous terracotta donations by Jan and Greg. The jasmine is now attempting to find the brick piers to begin climbing. Michael's beloved mandarin is insitu in its enormous pot. Lucky and Sascha's ashes have been sprinkled under this tree. My greeting signs to Station House are resting gently by the front door.

The Three Amigos could be permanently rechristened Suckhole, Grumpy Cat and the Barbaric Beagle. Only the Pirate Parrot has behaved himself this week. What a turn-up for the books!

The last refuges of dirt...