I have spent three days attempting to pin down the initially vague, but increasingly arresting smell of putrefaction wafting about upstairs in the cloakroom/study area. I initially accused himself of blocking the plumbing, as only men can, but nothing seemed to be amiss on inspection. Then it was sorting through the pile of charity shop bound clothes to ensure I hadn’t left an unwashed pair of minging socks in there. Finally, today, I lay down on the floor to inspect under every piece of furniture and it became clear I was getting warmer by the increasing pungency of the odour.
And there, in a trap so cunningly concealed that I don’t ever remember setting it (and I haven’t set any for over a year) was the culprit. Or the remains of the once mouse-like but now bloated, and crawling culprit.
God knows how long it has been there!
Boak.