It started with a patch.
A small, green patch on the edge of the patio. At first, you thought it was nothing. Just damp. Then, the damp grew fuzz. Then, the fuzz started creeping across the paving stones like it had a job to do.
You ignored it.
That’s where you went wrong.
Now the patio has a texture. Not a design choice. A condition. It’s like walking across the back of a frog. And every time it rains, it multiplies. You think, This can’t be normal. You think, Maybe it’ll dry out. You think, Where did I put that broom from 2007?
But what you should be thinking is this:
Patio cleaning yorkshire.
Meanwhile, the driveway is holding on with what can only be described as exhausted dignity. It’s trying its best. But it’s cracked. It’s tired. And it has that one stain near the car that you’ve explained as “tree sap” for two years now. It is not tree sap. No one believes you.
Driveway cleaning yorkshire floats through your mind like a soft breeze.
You swat it away and go back to pretending the dirt is “character.”
But you know.
And above it all… the roof.
Ah, the roof. Once noble, proud, a sturdy crown atop your home. Now it’s growing something. You’re not sure what it is. Moss? Lichen? A thriving rooftop farm for tiny forest creatures? It swells when it rains. It crunches when it’s dry. You think you saw it breathe once.
Roof cleaning yorkshire exists. You are aware of this. You choose, daily, to do nothing about it.
Then one day you stumble across a video. It’s a man. He is holding a machine. The machine is loud and wet and beautiful. It sprays. It strips dirt off surfaces like peeling away sin. One line of pressure washing yorkshire at a time. Black becomes white. Brown becomes beige. Grime becomes memory.
You watch the whole thing in silence.
Then again.
Then one more time.
You feel changed.
But not enough to book anything.
Instead, you go outside and try to scrub the patio with an old sponge and half a bottle of window cleaner. You make it three tiles in before your back hurts and the moss mocks you by returning instantly.
You whisper, “I tried.”
It whispers back, “Not well.”
At this point, the house is no longer dirty. It is becoming something else. An ecosystem. A habitat. A message.
You still won’t book anything today.
But tomorrow?
Maybe.
And if not tomorrow…
Eventually.
Probably.
Hopefully.
Maybe.