[Stevie] Your house sounds like the spire of that Chesterfield church.
The neighbours' house is a dijk-house; split level with a front door at road level, and storeys above and a storey below which is semi-underground, built into the dyke. Theirs also has constructions built out from the back of the house, on legs.
Ours is a dijkhuis too, but ours is new and built on pilings. Theirs is a hundred years old in parts and not built on pilings. Their front door doesn't fit, they have corridors that run in U-shapes around the building, and there are at least two routes to every room in the house. I'm very fond of them but they have too much stuff and cannot help but buy more.
Thank you for the warning about sanity. I fear you are right.

My internal picture was the spire of Ely Cathedral which was reportedly three feet off the vertical at the tip. Speaking of good intentions gone all tilty while no-one was looking, tomorrow Mrs Stevie leaves for DC and I begin fixing the perambulating fence of not-all-that-windproofness-when-you-get-down-to-it.

[Stevie] Isn't that fencing the recurring theme of your DIY posts on this website? I remember it from years ago. Perhaps it's time it went - is not even as if you have to keep the Steveling confined any more.

Nope. I value my privacy, such as it is.

Didn't get to fix the fence because of rain and bleeping work.

[Stevie] A noble task! Those swearwords won't censor themselves.

No, that's the noise my computer makes when the remote connection is timing out.

[Stevie] Mark your boundary with a row of nails.  It is said that a tack is the best form of the fence.

Argh! No court in the world would convict me, Boolbar.

Hooray! Them and their clever machines have had a closer look and I have no cancer whatever outside the prostate and so don't need chemo. A very good day. A very good day indeed.

Very good news Rosie.

I bet you feel about twenty years younger, Rosie. Marvellous, marvellous, old chap.

(Stevie,Dujon) Cheers. Thanks. The prostate itself is still cancerous but it's completely under control and the hormone therapy is working, i.e. the wee-wees are faster, less urgent and there's less getting up in the night. Pints of beer are less likely to cause "spillage". This is important, obviously. This treatment is going to have to last some time but has no side-effects apart from the obvious one of loss of libido which is not the worst thing in the world for someone of my age (74) but a slight loss nevertheless. I was told, quite seriously, that every man of 90 has prostate cancer (but dies of something else). Can I hang on to it for 16 years? Some people with more threatening cancer give it a name. Any suggestions? Trump? Ibrahimovic?

Why not call yours a "Corbyn"? After all, although it has dangerous principles it's pacific, looks like it's quite happy in its own allotment, was around for ages before coming to your notice, and you'd be better if once it's gone.
Have a beer from me, for medical reasons.

(Bismarck) It doesn't make much sense to name a malignant growth after something benign, does it?

[Rosie] Glad to hear your good news!

Thanks to all who have wished me well