The Mould Master!

DD has become the Zen master of mould destruction. Since adding seven more sets of lungs and 300% more laundry to the house the condensation created has become a huge problem. It is an old 19th century terrace and has very little ventilation. It was originally built as a two up two down colliers terrace. I love to sit and imagine the state of the art closed range that would have been in the chimney breast of the kitchen (now our dining room) and the open coal fire in the "good parlour". The windows would not have been double glazed, and the need for ventilation would have been minimal. Modern central heating and glazing has rendered the house a sort of warm sealed unit. Imagine putting a warm damp cloth into a biscuit tin and leaving it in a cold damp field. No doubt within a couple of days you would have a furry friend to call your very own.
Our bedroom is suffering the worst of it, as that is where the laundry is dried. We live in every spare inch of this house and there is simply nowhere else to place it. Therefore our bedroom has started to resemble a Victorian laundry.
The wall has a creeping black mould that is working it's insidious way upwards. Soon we will be sleeping in a dark, dank hole that looks like a set piece from the film se7en. I will have to start looking for emaciated corpses in the cupboards at this rate.
At least it did until DD saved the day (and myself from nightmares) Yesterday saw him on his knees scrubbing the wall with a solution of warm water, biological washing powder and a squeeze of bleach. He has done a splendid job. The bleach removed most of the staining and the washing powder killd the spores. Unfortunately it also thinned the paint, but hey ho, you couldn't see past the black mould anyway.
Half a dozen sturdy holes drilled through the walls, has provided some seriously need air flow and now we watch and wait.
Of course, being a Sunday evening all this was achieved with a cool glass of C&F to hand.  Power tools and wine?  Safety first ;)
Dear reader, I will not fool you into thinking I merely sat around watching DD's sultry form handle power tools in a manly way.  I, for my own part tackled the festering hole that had become my bathroom. It had got to the point where you would emerge from the shower feeling somewhat more soiled than when you went in.
Armed with a determined stare and a large bottle of bleach I whipped the mould into submission. Once again the tile grout is white and the floor does not contain botulism.
Being a vile chewed bubblegum pink with the most heinous flower pattern. Not to mention the matching pink suite. It cannot be called a nice bathroom. It is high priority to have it transformed into a haven of ablution. I can, however say it is clean! And that dear reader, is something to be proud of, in our eternal fight against the damp.