This is an incredibly unrealistic portrayal of the type of house most people live in, I tell him. Toy houses bear little resemblance to most living arrangements.
At 27, I had found my Barbie dream house. It was in an old converted building surrounded by fields and woods. I had been running for years; here I could stop.
There was no central heating, the windows were single glazed and a peculiarly stubborn black mould splattered the walls – and I loved it.
The couple who had lived there previously had separated partly because of the stress of the haunting. The building had been a place where women came to have their illegitimate children.
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