Since we moved in we’ve had a gas leak, the washing machine won’t drain, the toaster blew a fuse. And today, the boiler has packed in. But it’s still our house. And apparently, it’s well, sensitive. So. Leave it alone. Unless you’d like to come and fix the heat.
Actually, the same guy who fixed our farting stove two weeks ago is making another trip to fix the heat. Don’t worry, he knows where we live.
In other news, we are online. And we have cable TV. And in a fit of DIY, my husband put our spare TV on our bedroom wall. I know, I’m embarrassed enough for the both of us.
And I’m sitting here at the kitchen table. We have one of those, too. In related news, the new word for ‘distressed’ is ‘reclaimed’. Furniture is now politically correct.
Neil and I spent Valentines weekend picking out and ordering our new socially-acceptable furniture. Because we are
middle-aged romantic like that.
In related news, before we braved the shops, I said if we came home with one of those entertainment centre thingies, we’ll have crossed a line from which there’s no return.
But we were safe. Every bleary-eyed but somehow super-charged salesperson said, ‘they don’t make those any more.’
The thing was this. Every shiny, pointy bit of bark that passed for a ‘TV table’ was the perfect height for Isla to fist-bump any TV off of it.
And so. We found a sideboard thing and we ordered it without the ‘ornate’ top half. That’s what passes for creative thinking these days.
So there’s a kitchen table for the laptop, a place for the telly box and a sofa big enough for three whole butts.
I still have my old faithful bookcases crammed with books. They’re even slightly more organised than they were when I was 18. Not really.
But I do have a TBR bookcase now.
And there’s a bird-feeder stuck to the kitchen window. A seagull came to investigate it one day last week. Isla learned a new word that day.
Apparently, the boiler needs a new part. That’s another word.
Do you have any funny or not-so funny stories about moving and setting up home?