Skirting board - what that?

IIIIIII remember... when the World was young, and we didn't have any kids, Diane had three cats and sometimes there would be a few cat toys, baskets, maybe even a cat, strewn around the floor, and we'd get itchy about that and tidy up. Then Lizzie came along, and one of the cats got in a huff and died, to spite us, and the other two moved into the garage for some peace. And then, dear reader, something strange started happening to our house... the floors got smaller. Bits of baby-scat would gather and get pushed into the corners. Christmases and birthdays came and went, and then one night we got drunk and bam there was Peter too, so double the number of birthdays etc., and piles of stuff came into the house. Like Trojan horses, we allowed these prettily wrapped things to come through the door, but inside... they contained plastic toys. Oh yes. Plastic toys which neither die, nor move out, nor even rot away, but pile up in the corners. NOW, we live our lives in a 2 x 2 metre bit of floor space in the centre of the living room, with mountainsides of plastic crap all around, scared to make a noise in case it all comes tumbling down. You think it can't happen to you?? Beware! Beware! Still at least we never have to clean the skirting boards.


The corner of Peter's room. Where plastic goes to die.