Lecturing Lydia. How lovely. xxxxxx
When people constantly bang on about being happy, they aren't happy. Just sayin'.
Her insistence on gaslighting the audience, insisting how painting the cornice and trim the same sludge colour is making the ceilings feel higher just isn't working. No, Lydia, now the ceilings feel even lower than they did. Perhaps since she and Ali are so short they prefer to feel taller now that the ceilings feel ever so closer to their heads.
The knob of dreams gets a good fondling. The birthday boy by contrast, gets none. Ali is very muted in this video. Lydia says they're hungover. I would be too if I had to live with her. The sweet nectar of black out drunk evenings is probably the only peace he gets in his head.
All the orgasmic yelps over Lauren's work in the kitchen/dining area has been redone already. I present "twigs by Lydia". I daresay her opinion of Lauren's work is curdling, much like the paint colour of dreams. The dank, manky tones of this newest era within the bungalow of dreams. She admits she has to keep the guest bedroom doors open because the hallway is too dark. Guess that paint colour is the gift that keeps on taking what little light the dank house had to begin with.
She fluctuates from lecturing the audience, to claiming she is the happiest she's ever been, everything is all her now. Plus more MY MY MY. My greenhouse, my house, my dream.
Porter escapes his prison cell and does a runner down the hall. GO PORTER! Now make sure you leave a present on the new rug. The tiny, too small, dining table rug looks like pee pad, hope he keeps using it.
Ending with a lovely shot of the wonky arch of sour dreams. You can feel the house's luck swooshing out the door.