Beeeeep.
Click. Click. Beep. Click.
Papa Dumpling is photographing the flat. No corner is left undocumented, no angle to obtuse to commerate in digital format. Apart from the fear that he will capture my worst profile (all of them) for eternity, this is a good thing. It means that I don't have to worry about doing this before we leave. I can concentrate on the important things; getting the oven fixed, trying not to spill anything on the carpet or knock the worryingly loose radiator off the wall. And packing. Lots and lots of packing.
Click. Click.
Beeep.
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