Unexpected Benefits of Lockdown #23

I don't know if it is 'number 23', but there have definitely been plenty of unexpected benefits to the strange state of affairs that Covid19 has brought about.

Until this afternoon, we had a bright pink carpet in the dining room.

I hate it.

I have hated it since we first viewed the house. I have no idea what might have compelled anyone not on drugs to make this choice in their actual home. In a bedroom of an elderly aunt, maybe, thirty years ago. Certainly not in a DINING ROOM where actual people might actually see it.

But, worse, this was evidently relatively recently fitted. It was in 'good' condition. Like new, in fact. There were more urgent jobs when we moved in. I am famous for my big plans and shallow pockets. Other things had to come first.

And so the pink carpet remained.

For THREE YEARS.

It has tormented me at least daily. Mostly early mornings, when I come down before everyone else is up and rage at it, silently. Sometimes, when it is covered in Kempton hair when she is being particularly moulty, and I have to vacuum three times a day, then I rage out loud.

We have talked occasionally about putting some tiles down. And now seemed like a good time. Hearth-Father has plenty of time on his hands, for once. (At least three more weeks of lockdown, as was announced today.) So he spent a good four hours measuring up, researching tiles and grout, comparing prices. The time really had come. We had made a decision on the very tiles (or at least narrowed it down to three), when he pulled up a corner of the carpet to see what lay beneath...

...to discover the most glorious, perfectly intact parquet flooring.

Look at it!  Just look at it. Why would anyone cover that up? And why would they cover it with pink?

It rather changed the whole complexion of an otherwise quiet afternoon. Suddenly it was all hands to the deck, so to speak: now the dining room gets a spring clean, we get a new floor, and it hasn't cost a penny.

Gertie, Gilby and Eddie are providing the labour.

Well, mostly Gilby and Eddie, to be fair. Gertie is 'a bit busy', and (evidently practising for becoming a teenager next month), now sees 12pm as an outrageously early time to be out of bed.

As you were.




Currently reading: The Volunteer by Jack Fairweather

Moving On...

So, moving day has been and gone.

It was never going to go well, given this kind of starting point:

Just loving what Hearth-Father did there.

The hell was compounded by our elderly neighbour being bitten by a dog and requiring emergency treatment at the surgery one hour before we were due to be out of the house. I kid you not. Her timing was impeccable - but difficult not to help someone who appears to have their thumb hanging off. We were only about an hour late getting out in the end...and I forgot about two kitchen cupboards entirely. 

Things I learned whilst packing up to move house:

1. Gilby, my 'tidy' child, really isn't - if you move his bed.

2. Those fifty or so odd socks that I have been saving for the last ten years really are odd.

3. My husband's extensive 'mobile phones through the ages' collection will require its own wing in the new place.

4. If you put a photo like the one above on social media, friends will only notice the Prosecco box.

5. I hate boxes.

Things I have learned since being in the new one:

1. Many of the things I carefully boxed up I have unpacked only to throw away.

2. Moving house creates an 'Alice in Wonderland' effect so that all my furniture now looks wrong-sized.

3. Our predecessors taste in tiles is hideous. Beyond description.

4. In spite of the absurdly expensive quotation, with hindsight it would have been worth paying someone to do the packing and removals,

5. I hate boxes.

Currently reading: The Watsons by Jane Austen