“You live here?”

“Yes.”

“And you think I can, what, bring it back? This thing hasn’t been in style for at LEAST fifty years.”

“You’d better believe it!”

I look at my client, then the wreckage of a bus he has brought me to… it checks out.

The bus my client…lives in…is so rundown I can hardly bare to look at it. The crusty white and vomit-coloured stripes that coat the outside might have been fashionable once upon a time and have probably witnessed every horror this forest has to serve. Every window on the thing is broken, only hazardous shards remain. The places where doors SHOULD be are, instead, maimed holes in the bus. The headlights appear to have been stolen, leaving mouldy bus-innards behind. The engine sticks out, starchy and dead, and definitely hit the retirement stage in 1938.

“Oh, dear. HGTV is really going to get its full out of this one. Roll the cameras! Dearest client of mine, do show me the inside of this potential model home!” I try excitement. I don’t think it worked.

And, for Heaven’s sake, I don’t want to see the inside.