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I tend to overestimate my capacities. I'd planned on painting three rooms but it will be an achievement just to finish off the lounge. Being home ill and contemplating someone else's choice of wallpaper a few weeks ago served as the catalyst for this spurt of d.i.y.

One of the unexpected bonuses of living here is the little tool hire centre at the end of the road. I hired a steam-based wallpaper stripper for the day, got it home then had to carry it back again through the pouring rain because, oh the shame, I couldn't open the pressure release cap. Adrian, who was behind the counter, patiently and kindly showed me how. Turn, then press down, then turn again.

It's a sweaty business, holding the steaming plate to the wall, peeling off strips of hot, damp paper then scraping the residue with a putty knife, moving from ceiling to floor, one small section at a time. For a couple of hours I work and listen to Radio 4 over the hiss of steam. Bombs. Floods. Alan Johnston. The Archers. I'd completed one wall and had moved onto the second when I saw them. Words beneath the wallpaper.

Ally loves Caddy
1985

The same phrase repeated three times, written large on the plaster, a black felt tip pen in an exuberant hand. Near the ceiling, half way down the wall and just above the skirting board.

In 1985 the house was three years old. Caddy and Ally were the new owners perhaps? Unusual names: Ally might be short for Alastair, but what about Caddy? Did Caddy love Ally just as much, are they still together, did they have children, are they happy?

Did the writer ever think that a stranger would read these words?

Could I possibly believe that, in some form or other, love has been written into the fabric of this house?

I'll be sanding the walls next week, taking care to leave the words intact, then painting them with Dulux Hint of Apricot.