My parents finally put my Grandma's house on the market; she died 18 months ago.
I'm just looking at the photos on rightmove, it's slightly unnerving really, because it's unmodernised and not completely empty. So there's the dining table her husband made, at which she used to sit, and the bookshelf with my uncle's books on Marx. The carpet, brand new and best in 1975, the wall-mounted scales in the kitchen with which she used to make her pastry. The bits of bric-a-brac still in residence.
And now it's up for sale, 'suitable for development', and at a ludicrous price.