THEY say home is where the heart is and I'm inclined to agree. There's absolutely no competition as far as I'm concerned - my new pad in Bath is the current love of my life.

A little three bedroom terrace with stunning views over the valley, not to mention a barbecue friendly patio, room for table football in the conservatory and a big country kitchen ideal for entertaining. Like Mary Poppins, it's practically perfect in every way.

The other half and I have plenty of grand designs for our palace - from a vegetable patch to a bigger bathroom, but only two months post move-in date we're still in the process of discovering all the lovely little surprises the previous owners had in store.

From drawers without handles and cupboards that don't open (nothing that a spot of planing couldn't cure), to wonky toilet seats and holes in the wall the size of my fist.

We've found extension leads that appear to disappear into oblivion, mystery wires and missing doors. Carpets painted to skirting boards and a shower whose sole purpose appears to be to turn the bathroom floor into our very own personal pond.

We really thought we'd survived their best shot when we discovered the large urine smelling stain in the master bedroom (needless to say that carpet is no more) but when it comes to the conservatory, the former occupants have really excelled themselves.

Every time the wind picks up a mini tornado turns the kitchen into a scene out of twister - thanks to the window sized hole in the adjoining wall.

When you consider our predecessor's vocation as a builder, it's pretty shoddy work indeed.

All I can say is - thank heavens for fathers. I don't know what we would have done without our fantabulous double helping.

They've been an absolute godsend, arriving on our doorstep armed with overalls and tool kits containing more shiny metal things than Mary Poppins' could pull out of her magic carpet-covered bag.

And boy do they know their stuff. DIY and disaster are no longer words that will find a home together in the Crawshaw-Freeman residence!

They've screwed, sawed, hammered and drilled. They've hung doors, rebuilt walls, ingeniously insulated the conservatory with purse-friendly pipe lagging and selflessly shared their incredible 120 years of combined expertise.

My boyfriend has done himself proud and even I've become surprisingly proficient with a screwdriver and some filler. And of course we can't forget the marvellous mum's who've been just as angelic - digging gardens, planting herbs and donning their rubber gloves to clean off years of grub and grime.

What would we have done without them? Well, we'd certainly have been a darn sight colder that's for sure. In fact, thinking about it, we wouldn't even be here!

So I'd like to raise a glass to the olds, or the wrinklies as they're affectionately called. And to many, many happy years of family gatherings, garden parties, and all the magical memories yet to be made in our Home Sweet Home. Cheers!