Today was a busy one. We managed, in just under six hours, to completely change the look of our flat. It went from feeling like someone else’s to feeling like ours.
We had carpet laid and were pleasantly surprised by the arrival of three fitters when we had been told to expect one. As good citizens we had already cleared the living room of furniture and there they started. The day was a glorious one so the carpet was brought in through the garden facing French window which has direct access to the lounge. Within moments they had the old up, the new underlay down, then disaster struck!
“Excuse me?” I heard a male voice calling down the hall,
“Yes?” I hastily left my laptop and walked towards the cry, congestion in the hallway was not conducive to rushing.
“Do you have a plaster, one of the lads has cut hisself?”
I rummaged around in the kitchen drawer knowing if I found a plaster it would probably be inadequate, these were men with dangerous tools, a small, plaster size cut would go undetected. I found a roll of medical tape and offered it instead.
“That’ll do, I’ll wrap his arm up.”
He was back in a moment for paper towels and news that the cut was long and deep.
“He’s popping off to Lewisham hospital to get it stitched, it’s about two inches deep and yay long,” he held his fingers apart about six inches.
I went outside to see what had happened, apparently he had cut his arm on his scalpel sharp carpet knife which was hanging around loose and unsheathed in his shorts’ pocket…
Now we had two fitters…still better than one!
The lounge was finished and they were clearing the hall of furniture so they could throw carpet on it next and then move to the bedrooms.
We thought we’d vacuum the lounge before the new furniture arrived at some indeterminate hour in the morning between 8 and noon. The hoover is a bagless affair that has never worked properly. The plastic dust catcher is wedged tightly into the machine making it impossible to empty, so it no longer huffs.
Believe me when I say hubby took the whole hoover apart before he finally managed to disengage the dust catcher, then he spent a further thirty minutes attempting to put the whole thing back together again, but before he could crack the assembly code, the new furniture arrived and he became sidetracked. Typical!
Now there were two more workmen on our property and a massive delivery lorry blocking the driveway sharing the narrow space with the carpet van parked halfway up on the grass. I bet our neighbours were having a peeping marathon.
The furniture men took one look at our French window and shook their heads. They went to get a tape measure and checked the centimetres, they tutted and shook their heads again, they clambered over furniture to measure the front door and came back outside still shaking their heads.
“Sorry, we’re not going to be able to get the couches through these doors,” they sadly said.
“What?” hubby asked, propelled into a standing position with the promise of a problem to solve, a need for ingenuity. The hoover was abandoned in pieces on the lawn.
“Look, you can come out to the lorry and measure the sofa for yourself, but it won’t go through the door,” the deliverers said.
Hubby went to satisfy himself, we needed 83 centimetres width and we only had a 79 centimetre clearance. Who designs door widths and furniture sizes? After lots of hair pulling and head scratching hubby ventured a solution,
“What about taking it through the window?”
Boys will be boys, there were five against one and even the carpet layers came to watch the fun. We have large revolvng picture widows one of which was unscrewed and taken out. Before you could say boo to a goose both pieces of furniture were in the lounge via the window! Luckily we live on the ground floor.
“Have you seen the old PG Tips advert?” I asked, “the chimpanzees are moving a piano down the stairs and it gets stuck on the landing, they stop to have a cup of tea to ponder the problem and…!”
“You’re going to make us a cup of tea?” was all the response I got and we stopped for a cuppa.
When we sell the flat, the couches will have to stay with it!
Malia missed all the fun, she was at work.
“You mean you had five men here all morning?” she asked when she came home.
“Well yes, when ‘stitches’ finally came back from hospital!” we said.
Sometimes it is more exciting to stay at home!
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
No comments so far!
Leave a Comment