I get pretty nostalgic and sentimental about places and things, and find it sad when something, no matter how run down and ramshackle, gets taken away forever. It's so final.
Late 2010 we moved into a little old house in Como, to rent for six months while we looked for a place to buy. It was old and kind of falling apart, you'd get kind of sea-sick walking down the hall, the floor boards were so wavy and buckled. But there were lots of nice things about it too, funny little quirks that you find in old houses.
Here's the front of it, the first time I saw it after picking up the keys. Nice camellia bush out the front, and a lovely yellow climbing rose on the falling down fence that was propped up with a stick. It was called Jacqueline.
Soon after we left, it was knocked down, to make room for a much more comfortable, much more roomy, but much more ugly place, squeezed in to maximise the block, and built up to catch some sort of a water glimpse. I drove past the other day and took this progress snap.
Give me ol' Jacqueline any day.