You may not be surprised to know that I was the fly, not exactly on the wall but  below the wall; you see there is always maintenance work to be done on our house, both inside and out, and now that the summer has arrived I’ve been doing all manner of out-door jobs. Today, for example, I was painting the risers on the steps coming down from the road gate.

Now firstly I ought to explain that the architectural front of our big Victorian terrace house (with bay windows and ornamentation from the period, as well as the terrace with its attractive white balustrade) is on the sea side; hence, both the main entrances, on different levels (the house has four storeys), are situated at the architectural back of the house, which lacks all the elegant features. We are used to it and don’t mind the back to front appearance as we come in from the road. We have a rose arch over the upper door and there are colourful flowers in pots on the small balcony (which is a suntrap in the evenings); the wooden footbridge and railings are painted in all shades of blue (to reflect the fact that our house is right by the sea) and there are climbing plants that grow over trellises and walls. Basically, we try to make the plain back exterior as pretty and welcoming as possible.

Each summer many visitors and holiday-makers stop on the pavement by our gate, painted like a beach hut (Chris’s handiwork!), and look over it, or the brick wall, to admire the flowers. When I happen to be working outside I often hear lovely comments from people on the roadside, and if they see me we might have a chat; and if they are really nice, and I have time, I sometimes invite them in to see the magnificent view from the other side of the house.

So… back to today. I was painting the risers on the steps just the other side of the brick wall. Incidentally, it was sweltering under the full rays of the sun on those steps. I was about half-way down – at the landing, from which the last flight of steps turns at a right angle – and therefore I was hidden from view (because nobody crooks their neck to look straight down). Suddenly I was aware of a conversation above my head. Judging by their voices (I didn’t see them) it was a couple, perhaps in their sixties or seventies, and they obviously came from Birmingham. Their accents were broad and I couldn’t make out what they were saying – I assumed they were admiring the balcony, now abundant with geraniums, petunias and clematis flowers. Then I heard the husband clearly as he projected his last sentence, as if it was intended to fall on the ears of any worker ants (or maybe a fly on the wall):

“Well they might have a good view of the sea but that’s all!”

The wife muttered some sounds of agreement and they moved on.

“That’s all?” I repeated the words inside my head.

I kept on painting and, as I did so, I made a mental tour of our cherished old house. It’s the same house we have lived in all the years of our marriage, and on which, during  a great deal of that time, we have renovated and remoulded (leaving the original features such as fireplaces and cornices, and restoring ceiling roses and picture rails etc…); and in doing so we brought into it new life and light. A few minutes later I broke into a smile. For all I know it may have been a “Chesire Cat” kind of grin. We love our house and all its secrets.

I was three steps from finishing painting when Chris came out through my studio door to see how I was getting on.

“Oh, it looks lovely!” he said.

And now that I’ve told you, I can forget the ignorant couple from Birmingham.