Every available space is filled with something, nothing is ever allowed to be thrown away, things that are brought here as a joke are kept and crammed on a shelf or in a case with everything else - as are things my dad finds on his wanders around the streets. Having filled every available cubic millimetre of space in cupboards, drawers and on shelves, things are hung from the backs of doors, the outside of wardrobes.
It's a bit like living in Stig of the Dump's house.
This presents a problem: none of the doors open fully because there's always something behind them that blocks their swing. Unfortunately, the things hanging from the back of the doors tend to be springy, so you often find a door that you've opened bounce straight back at you and clatter you on the elbow.
I'm covered in bruises. If was a child, I'd have been taken into care by now. Unfortunatley, have I'd probably ended up with my shithead neighbours. You'd have thought that I'd perhaps have learnt to be a bit more careful by now.
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