I am pursued by a trail of vomit, of a feline and baby variety. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this, but I really wish it would stop. Last time I checked it definitely wasn't in the small print.
More houses today, all of them vastly unsuitable. One 1920s terraced house had two gas fires, and a woman who didn't know if they worked or not, as she was "allergic to gas". A very realistic (but undoubtedly cuddly-toy) dog sat in a basket next to one of the fires, which was rather weird. The next house was artexed to death (every wall and ceiling in the house, in a delightful shade of prison grey-blue), and contained a black onyx dining room table and chair set which wouldn't have looked out of place in a James Bond villain's lair. In fact the lampshades, clock, tv set and sofas could have belonged there too. I know you're supposed to "look past the decor", but it would have cost thousands to put right. So maybe another one that wasn't really for us. The search continues.