We live in a porous house. I don’t mean there’s the odd hole here and there; I mean it’s a sieve masquerading as a home. Rain, wind and snow penetrate its walls like a bull penetrates a matador’s cape: with vigour, menace and ease. It’d be humorous if hyperthermia weren’t a real threat. And while our little abode barely fits the description of a house, it does have one redeeming feature. It’s views.
