If you’re wondering what would compel a girl to rent a house with hot pink plastic tiles covering the bathroom (don’t worry, you’ll get to see it in all of its glory soon enough) and two acres of grass to mow come spring, well…
An old barn doesn’t hurt.
Or a silo. And a falling-down garage.
You know, places where you can risk a broken leg and a serious case of tetanus while you treasure hunt…
Plus it comes with a guest-house. (If you’re a chicken.)
So basically my decision on where to live for the next six months– which happens to be twenty miles away from anyone I know and my job– was based entirely on ancient outbuildings.
Yep. Still crazy.