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electrician took an hour to restore power to half the house. The other half, the troublesome east wing again, was apparently a lost cause until the entire property could be rewired. He assured me he’d be available to do the job early in the new year. I realised I was going to need to buy a diary to keep track of the schedule of the various works that needed to be carried out here. As I watched the electrician drive away, I found myself grateful someone like Anna was involved in this project with me. Her detached professionalism was exactly what was necessary. We didn’t have to be great friends.
    The electricity working—partially at least—I set out to explore my new domain. My first priority was the bathroom, where I was assured I would find a functioning lavatory and at least one tap with running water. Having ducked around the corner of the building to relieve myself in the undergrowth last night, I was anxious to begin living a little more like a civilised human being. A wash would be beneficial too.
    I stood in the middle of the entrance hallway, in between the front doors and the foot of the magnificent staircase. I looked down at the very basic floor plan I’d been provided and turned to my left towards where I thought the bathroom should be. A doorway led into a short, wide corridor with a very damp carpet and striped wallpaper hanging in ribbons from the walls. From this corridor opened three doors. I entered the closest one first and found myself in an almost square chamber with windows in two walls. I frowned at my plan and realised I was actually on the opposite side of the house to the bathroom. The shape of the room made it clear this was the Blue Drawing Room. An ornate marble fireplace drew my attention immediately, though it was shrouded in dust. There was no indication as to why this room could be described as “blue,” but the light which streamed through the filthy—though intact—windows was certainly a good enough reason to choose this room as somewhere to sit with friends. I assumed that to be the function of a drawing room, having never possessed one before. I almost laughed at this latest twist in my life, but the heaviness resting in my heart prevented the mirth from escaping. What had I taken on?
    Curious and hoping to reassure myself a little, I suspended my search for the bathroom for a short while. A door led from this room into the next chamber. This one had no windows at all and was smaller and narrower than the Blue Drawing Room. My plan told me this was once known as the Music Room. There were fine plaster covings, another impressive fireplace, and, to one side of the room, an old armchair mouldering quietly. For the briefest of moments I tried to hear harpsichord or pianoforte music in there, but the smell of damp coming from the floor made it hard to imagine anything but hours of work.
    I left the Music Room and returned to the corridor outside. The other doorway led into the Saloon, which had clearly been a very fine room with a high ceiling. It was a room large enough for dancing, or large-scale entertaining. Alcoves on either side of an even more spectacular fireplace contained shelves, and old, heavy, moth-eaten curtains still hung at the large, Italianate windows. Instantly, I pictured this room renovated to its former glory, full of friends and family. It took me a moment to remember I didn’t have enough friends and family to fill the small Blue Drawing Room, let alone this airy space. A twinge of regret pushed the image of the renovated room out of my mind and brought me back to its present dereliction. Could I rebuild my life and an abandoned country house simultaneously? Or would they soon prove to be mutually exclusive tasks, demonstrating how foolhardy it had been to take this on when I was still feeling so fragile?
    Another door in the Saloon opened back into the hallway. I went through it and crossed to the other side of the house, the east wing as Anna had referred