Back to breaking things


I can't believe I let builders into my house again. I can't believe I haven't blogged for six months either, but, as I sit here in my printed jammies, Mickey Mouse slippers and softest blue scarf - a favourite pre-dawn outfit - both statements are chillingly accurate.

Yesterday a man with a big hammer smashed his way through the little half-wall between our lounge and dining room. Today he will hack away half of the hearth in front of the fireplace. When one lives in an inner city semi, every square centimetre of floor space counts. Especially when one has been shopping for dining room chairs that fitted perfectly into the Coricraft showroom but not so perfectly into said semi.

The builders (at this stage it seems more appropriate to call them breaker-downers) arrived before the weekend to finish all the work they didn't get to at the end of last year, when they were so rudely interrupted by Christmas and New Year. I put it off for as long as I could, I put if off for six months, but eventually I had to put my big girl panties on and let them back in.

So I'm back to not having a kitchen for a while, and sharing an en suite bathroom and takeaway Chinese dinners with an adult stepson who has moved back home and comes in very handy when I need to move furniture out of the path of destruction, or find good Chinese takeaways.

They say it will take two weeks; I know better than to believe them.






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