Tag Archives: Kitchen

A Voyage Around My Kitchen

18 Nov

I’m Frightened

13 Nov
The Sixth Sense

Image via Wikipedia

In order not to spoil the tone of today’s post, I will advertise that there is a new poem on my sapoems blog here, instead of at the bottom like I usually do.  Shameless self-promotion is rigorously advised if I want to up my hits.


Now that I have a new kitchen and bathroom, something terrible is happening…I have learned to notice dirt.  When the equipment was antiquated, cracked, damaged, yellowed, stained, it was easy not to see dirt.  Now it is sparkling and twinkling and fresh and I have to clean it all the time if I want it to stay that way.

Last night, for example, as I was brushing my teeth, I noticed that the bathroom window sill needs wiping again.  That’s the third time in as many weeks; I don’t think I cleaned the old window sill that many times in thirteen years.

The first thing I did this morning, after a wee and a prayer and fussing the dogs and a cup of tea and checking my emails and writing the other blog post and another cup of tea and thinking about breakfast, was to clean it. 

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I don’t like it.  I’m going to have to call in Bruce Willis because, like Haley Joel Osment in ‘The Sixth Sense’, I see dust bunnies….






Blind Luck

27 Oct

To welcome our new kitchen we treated it to a vertical blind.    The Hub measured carefully, several times, because we bought it from the internet and had to fit it ourselves.  We chose a nice cream colour to match the walls.  Sigh.

I blame the blind company – fancy accepting orders from unlucky idiots.  Unlucky, because we absolutely could not foresee that, instead of painting the window sill, a new, plastic sill would be laid over the old one, thus raising it by several centimetres.  Idiots because, even though the colour on the website looked cream, the name was a bit of a giveaway: Sunflower Yellow.

Better Off Fed

15 Oct
Solanum tuberosum - potato

Image via Wikipedia

Yesterday’s whinge was barely out of my fingertips when the painters arrived and magnolia-ed my kitchen.  They second-coated this morning, as well as doing the bathroom.  The plumber fitted half of the shower (the electrician has to do the other half) and the floorman coated the floor this afternoon. 

All good news for me…except that I like eating.  I like it so much that I cook.  In my kitchen, which is wet from floor to ceiling and a no-go area for 24 hours (if we want to be on the safe side).  The floorman caught us by surprise at three this afternoon and told us to take what we needed from the kitchen; but we couldn’t get the stove past him.  We had to raid Spud’s moneybox and buy chips for dinner.

I miss real food: roast dinners and rice and vegetables and homemade gravy.  Stews and soups.  All cooked with non-processed ingredients and by my own fair hands.  It might not taste good but it keeps the bones strong and the gullet full.  We haven’t eaten a fresh potato in this house for three weeks.  If I don’t eat something soon that hasn’t been prepackaged, flavoured, coloured and enhanced, I’m going to be a little grumpy.  I need to shake off this microwave-induced headache and rip into some meat.

So This Is What Ungrateful Feels Like

14 Oct
Angry rabbits always attack first

Image by id-iom via Flickr


I’m getting them for nothing; I shouldn’t complain, but I am sick to death of the kitchen and bathroom refurbishment.  The work has been going on since September 23rd.  It should have been September 22nd but they were running a little behind. 

That was the first clue that I should have stuck with my forty-year old cabinets.  Better the cupboard you know.

Since that date, workmen have been in and out of my house, leaving the door open for opportunist thieves and letting the cold in; drinking my tea; not cleaning up after themselves.  I’ve had kitchen necessaries in my lounge and kitchen extras in every bedroom and a stonking great fridge freezer blocking my front door for three weeks.

Men come, look around, go away again.  Other men give me dates and no-one shows up.  Anonymous vans deliver wallpaper and plumbing supplies that stand around for days, gathering dust and my impotent rage.  The rubbish that the men do clear up stands uncollected outside my house, a prey to foxes, because half-eaten sandwiches go in the bags as well.  I’ve got nothing against foxes except that, like council workmen, they don’t clear up after themselves.

We were promised that this week the tiling and decorating would be done, and the shower fitted.  Monday, the tilers came in, drew in a long breath and said they couldn’t tile because there was a tiny hole that I couldn’t see that needed plastering; then went away again.  The plasterer came, filled the hole, and went away again.  The tilers tiled. 

Tuesday, the decorators came, stripped the paper, drew in a long breath and went away again because there were holes underneath that the plasterer etc., etc.  The plasterer came in the afternoon and plastered.  This was his third time here as he had plastered prior to the cabinet fitting.  As we are as good as related by now, I joined him via my leftover birthday wine.  I don’t know why, but suddenly it was all so much easier.

The decorators came back yesterday morning and papered, then went away again because – draw a long breath – it wasn’t their job to paint. 

This morning, Paul the person in charge knocked to tell me that I was down to have my floors done today.  This is the same Paul who told me on Monday that my floors would not be done until the decorating was finished.  Phrases using words like ‘elbows’, and vulgar alternatives to the human posterior spring to mind.

While all this is going on, I have been shuttling kitchen necessaries such as kettles and microwaves from kitchen to lounge to kitchen again.

On top of all that, we are going camping on Sunday.  Twelve years without a family holiday and we opt for one that has us living with a kitchen-come-lounge for a week.  Somebody, please – pass me the wine.  I need to get plastered.


The prompt for Carry on Tuesday was to use the words, ‘Close your eyes, have no fear’ from John Lennon’s song, Beautiful Boy.  I only have one thing on my mind, so here it is:

A Bit Of A Carry On

Close your eyes; have no fear:
the end’s almost here.
Fitting & tiling & joinery’s done;
wallpaper is up; painting’s to come.
Add a new shower and two shiny floors:
A beautiful kitchen (and bathroom) is yours.


Coincidentally, I wrote this one yesterday:

Lines On A Refurbishment 

At present, my writing life’s quite unexciting.
I shouldn’t be bitching, I have a new kitchen.

I just can’t write in a mess, I guess.

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