A guy got on the train at Prahran yesterday. Very torn jeans. Obvious safety pins in one spot on them. Studded belt. Multicoloured jacket. And a luxurious coiffure of Fabio-style hair, but tied up… and carrying his very own hair dryer. ‘Cos hey, you never know when you might need it.

Had a quick look at a house on Saturday. In a great spot, on a quiet side street, yet shouting distance to the station and supermarket and shops. But the house itself… oh dear. Oh dear oh dear.

The propaganda suggested all one would need to do was rip up the carpet, take off the (very fugly) brick veneer, replace the kitchen, and you’d have your dream home. No mention of the tiny bathtub (made for midgets?), handily angled floors (useful for seeing if your spirit level is working), the lack of space in the kitchen for a fridge, and the spurious and very dodgy-looking electrical cables all around the garden (Hooray! Garden spotlights everywhere and — wait for it — a working miniature lighthouse).

Nup. A fulltime job renovating a house is something I can do without, thanks. As Josh said, probably easier to bulldoze and start afresh. All these “features” may not stop it selling for a small fortune though.