We have reached a momentous landmark in the life and times of the Beans Massive, which is that all of us – every single Bean – now owns a house.
To commemorate this occasion, I have had three beautiful portraits specially commissioned, that each recreate the atmosphere and excitement on the day we moved in to our houses.
Please enjoy these fine works of art. If you would like the original to frame and hang over your fireplace, get in touch and we can discuss terms.
Kev and Sarah
Kev and Sarah bought a place first. Here they are standing outside their brand new gaff, all freshly painted magnolia, with their faithful flock of bees.
Chris and Kate
Kate and I were next. This picture captures us as we arrive at our French chateau for the first time, gin in hand.
Ian and Vikki
Completing the set, here are Ian and Vikki just last week, with Ian holding the first consignment of manga that will eventually come to overrun the entire building.
9 comments on “Everybody has a house now”
These are deeply, deeply beautiful so I hope that whilst I type these words the framed picture is on its way to our house. I need that on the hallway wall.
I was very clear about the whole getting in touch and discussing terms thing. No getting in touch happened and no terms have been dicsussed, so nothing is on the way to your house. Your hallway wall has nothing on it. You are bereft. This is justice.
This is me “getting in touch”, berk. Thrust your terms into my eyes!
“Get in touch” means “write me a formal letter using a feather quill on antique vellum, and then have it brought to my house and read to me by a Town Crier”. I can’t believe I have to explain this to you.
Not everyone lives in France, Chris. I don’t know how you do things in yo neck ‘o tha woods. Do you still have a town crier? What’s his name?
They don’t have town criers in France anymore, but the village executioner will generally shout the days news whilst he’s polishing the guillotine or moving a pile of headless aristocrats.
Ah, I see, due to the economy they had to lose one and it’s much better to have a shouty executioner than a bloodthirsty town crier.
As they always say in France: you chat while you massacre, but nobody ever shouted a viscount’s head off.
They do it’s true. There was that one executioner who tried it once, but he lost his voice before the count’s head even wobbled and he just gave it up as a bad job.