4. A thousand words

The house as we found it, from the front, obviously. This is the image we first saw on the listing and said "That's IT!"

The living room. Clearly extensive changes are required, so after long debate and council planning approval advice, Gen and I have compromised by deciding to move the tartan chair nearer the shelves.

The Dining Room. We are really not sure what to make of this room, although it is the gateway to the attic realm and thus warrants special privileges. Through the lovely original sash window one can just make out the sweeping vista of the veranda toilet, just past the termite poison warning notice.

So you know when you meet a new partner and things are going really well, and so you decide to get past that initial stage where you could turn back with no remorse, and then things get serious and you start to show signs of commitment, but then they tell you the big drawback. You know, kleptomania, xbox-live, re-enactment, mum's room. Well - here it is! Unfortunately the kitchen, bathroom and chook shed are all in the garden. Apparently in the old days major kitchen fires were so prevalent that they used to build the amenities on the back of the house, but not actually connect them structurally. Solution! So Mrs H. even at 94 was climbing down rickety outdoor concrete stairs to cook and bathe every day, something that we are respectfully unashamed to admit is just beyond our soft modern upbringing.

The kitchen verandah. I'm sure the word verandah was invented by a very British Sergeant Major after retiring to Zambia to enjoy an endless supply of weather perfect for gin and tonic. However it seems this one was actually made by the same person after a hard summer's refreshment.

Yes there's an en-suite, with convenient access to Hill's Hoist and compost heap.

No, this has not been photoshopped. The bathroom was actually built on a rift in space-time - something on which the survey was strangely lacking in detail. The tap on the wall is sadly non-functional, but was part of Salvador Dali's little known "The Australian Years" exhibition.

On Thursdays this bedroom fireplace leads to a magical world of gigantic living stationery where currently a war rages between the 60-foot biro armies of the Queen of Overseasrellies and the shatterproof-ruler catapults of the evil Baron Backtoschool. However we've only managed to get the house keys at weekends so haven't started our alternative adventure blog yet.

The house is adorned with priceless examples of teenage architecture - of which we are under sincere oath not to judge too harshly. After all they've functioned admirably for 50 years which is longer than the long-decayed rubbish I made for my parents.

"So Mr Bond, before I kill you I'd like to show you something... Here, hold my Mini-Maglite would you?"

Phil wasn't kidding about the bottles!

Possible ritual burial of shoes under the front door to ward off evil spirits common in the 19th century. Either that or the remains of a teenage party that "didn't happen" while Phil's parents were away for the weekend in 1952.

Some awesome junk that Gen can't wait to get all Tony Robinson on. Or perhaps I'll be Tony and Gen can be the blond girl he definitely wasn't flirting with in the second series.

Finally! The moment arrives to explore the hidden realms above.

"I've found a clue!" Sadly I think I really did shout that...

Dusting the cobwebs off the clue as I read out loud to Gen who stood wobbling with excitement on the top step of the borrowed ladder, "Please Note.", some mysterious benefactor explained in the most beautiful cursive handwriting, "This window has been boarded up, use other window for light. Thanks."

Slightly stunned by this curious instruction which appeared both ridiculously redundant but at the same time highly insightful, I made my way carefully over to the other side of the attic, picking my way, by maglite, through barely-perceivable pitfalls and small heaps of history.

We have a window! The attic was suddenly flooded with light and while Gen was gasping and whooping at the size of our newfound room, I peered out through the window and spotted a golden gleam at the end of every Sydney-sider's rainbow. The harbour! "OMG" said Gen, almost falling off the borrowed ladder, "the house price just went up $50k".

Aha! The home entertainment system.

And what appear to be highly skilled "Rambo"-style rodents as bonus live-in pets.

What struck us about this box, was not how little progress has been made in household product design over the last 50 years, but how amazingly well preserved the fragile cardboard and paper is. The hot, dry attic had more of an Egyptian tomb feel to it than the normal cold damp atmosphere of the English attics of my youth, where everything has been at least slightly nibbled at some point.

Heaven!