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overlooked to the front. It cost £180, 000 but will retain its value well or most likely go up! It has solar panels on the roof and a cost-efficient central-heating system throughout. It has two bathrooms, inc. en suite to the master b’room. Substantial gardens front and rear complete the picture in an exclusive new development in a semi-rural setting. I’ve got my own bedroom at last. It’s got footballer wallpaper, which I chose myself.
     
    To be architectural about it, I found the new house disappointing.
    I remember Cromarty Close when it was made of string. Dad took us to a big field near the railway, all overgrown with brambles and nettles. A man with a checked shirt and a clipboard led us to a place where the brambles had been cleared and the grass cut short. It was criss-crossed with avenues of string. He pointed down one and said, ‘Dogger.’ Then he walked to the corner of the next one and said, ‘Finisterre.’ Then he pointed off to the left and said, ‘Cromarty’.
    ‘What d’you think?’ Dad said. ‘Want to move here?’
    I said, ‘Yes, please!’ very enthusiastically.
    So we did.
    Actually, my enthusiasm was because of a misunderstanding. I thought he was suggesting we live in the field, with the string. A lot of saints have lived in unusual houses. St Ursula ( 4th century) lived on a ship with 11,000 holy companions. St Simeon (390–459) tried to avoid the temptations of the world by living on top of a three-metre column. When sightseers started coming to stare at him, he moved to a ten-metre column so he wouldn’t hear them. And when they just started shouting (in 449), he moved to a twenty-metre column, where he ended his days in peaceful contemplation.
    Compared to that, living in a field full of brambles and string seemed sensible and pleasant. I was looking forward to it. When we came back, all the brambles had gone and there was a sign saying ‘Portland Meadows – exclusive, discreet, innovative’, and four rows of houses with very pointy roofs and funny-shaped windows. Number 7 Cromarty Close is a three-bedroom detached with substantial gardens and solar panels. Anthony said, ‘Detached houses hold their value better and three-bedroom is the configuration most sought after by most buyers. The solar panels are added value.’
    Compared to a boat with 11,000 companions, or a twenty-metre marble column, our house seemed a bit unsaintly, so I built myself a hermitage.
    Dad decided to get rid of the cardboard boxes. We ripped them open and found all sorts of stuff that we’d forgotten we had. One was full of vases. One was full of bedding. One had the Christmas decorations and a Micro Machines racing circuit inside (we set it up in the boxroom). I found the one with Mum’s dresses in and her make-up.
    When they were all empty, I took the boxes down to the railway, slotted them inside each other and there you go, a hermitage. It was tunnel-shaped, with little flaps for looking out. When the trains went by, the whole place shook. If it was dark, the trains lit up the inside for a second. There was a line of holly bushes between the gardens and the track, so the hermitage was nearly invisible from the houses. I took a few things down there – such as my St Francis bookmark and a tube of tinted moisturizer I found – but not much, the whole point being to live a simpler life. Not full-time, obviously, because of school. But whenever I could. I got a bit scratched going through the holly, but that was OK because suffering is good (it’s called mortification).
    I got the idea for the hermitage from Rose of Lima (1586–1617), who lived in one at the bottom of her parents’ garden from when she was a little girl. She had multiple and marvellous visions, including those of the Blessed Virgin and the Holy Ghost, and visitations from many saints. Personally, I didn’t get any, even though I stayed there until it was really cold.
    I went on Google to try and find out why my hermitage