We picked up the keys on a Wednesday morning, sat on the kitchen floor and ate sandwiches off a tea towel. The house is small and a little tired, with wooden floors, a back step that catches the afternoon sun and a kitchen that needs a knife sharper than the one we own.
We're not in any rush to fill it. A couch worth keeping. The right kettle. A few hands on a Saturday with a brush and a roller. If you've ever wanted to stand in someone else's kitchen and pour the wine while they cook, this is your invitation.
