So here we were in the middle of December 2011. Two of our children would arrive the next day for their Christmas break, but our new condo had no electricity and an empty elevator shaft. We reluctantly booked our family into the boutique hotel across the street from our so far uninhabitable home 10 storeys up.
It must have been with a deep sense of melancholy that Louis XIII of France heard from doctors on May 14, 1643, that he had less than an hour to live. The king answered: “Ah! Good news.”
Let there be no misunderstanding, I love my club (the home of homes) but once in a while I am hard pressed not to shout “Enough!”
I want to take a minute before I go on with my grim story to address the e-mails I have been receiving about my choice of real estate agent and my apparent naiveté.
Big news. There was a break-out last week from the Tired Fawn, or, as we like to call it, the Last Roundup. This is where families commit their loved ones when they can no longer be bothered to look after dribbling relatives.
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