By local standards, the house we grew up in on Main Street, Portlaoise was old and rambling and ramshackle, a relic of the early 19th century fabric of that midlands town. And with that vintage came the need for frequent and costly repairs.
One winter – I was maybe 10 or 12 – the sagging floor in the upstairs family room could no longer be ignored; and, peeling back the carpet, our parents found a number of the ancient floorboards in an advanced stage of decomposition...
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