Tag Archives: Refurbishments

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.

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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….

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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.

I Heart Nepotism

26 Oct

Words fail me…my kitchen is finished.  Photos to follow.

Words don’t really fail me, of course; you know that’s not my style.  So here’s an update:

Tim the Tiler laid my kitchen floor yesterday.  A real jobsworth, he told me about every neighbour of mine – and there were many – who had abused him or complained, so that he was forced to down tools and walk out, never to return.  Suitably appalled, I plied him with tea, one sugars, the whole day, and kept my mouth shut.  He did a lovely job.

I have just re-read the Harry Potter books for the nth time and last night I started on the movies.  I had forgotten how long they are, though, and was up way past my bedtime as a result.   I was woken this morning at the debauched hour of 8:20 by Matt the Finisher.  Matt is the boss’s nephew and that is usually a bad omen but he is an impressive young man.  Not in looks: he is wearing a pyjama-stripe hoodie and is possibly malnourished, but his work ethic is outstanding.  He has sealed every worktop, socket and tile, including the ones behind the appliances; put back the vent cover, even though the vent was hidden and could reasonably have been forgotten; replaced two windowsills and a bathroom shelf; took out the toilet and sink and over-sink tiles and called in the decorator to re-do that wall because he wasn’t satisfied with how it looked; scraped cement mix off the kitchen wall that the floor man had left behind; and moved my fridge freezer and freezer back into the kitchen.  I could go on, but I think you have the idea.  The electrician who came yesterday warned me MtF was particular: he had come to move one socket because it was slightly higher than the two it was by, and when I said he could leave it as far as I was concerned, he shuddered and gave me to understand that Matt wouldn’t like it….

I can’t fault a man who is going to leave me with a perfect kitchen and bathroom and do it all on one cup of tea.  He wouldn’t take more because it interfered with his work time.  Nepotism rocks.

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The decorator was the same man as last time.  He asked if he could get some water for his bucket:

Me: Let me just move these breakfast dishes out of the sink.
Him: I thought you’d be finished by now.
Me: (Apologetically) I overslept this morning so I’m behind on my chores.
Him: No, no – I meant your refurb.

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I found this interesting – the recommended tags for this post included Nepotism, the People’s Republic of China, Government, Robert F. Kennedy, and the American House of Representatives.  It would appear that even the internet is jaded about politics.

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.

And The Award For Greediest Retailer Goes To…

1 Oct
Tesco shopping trolley shelter

Image via Wikipedia

 

…Tesco, for showing the first Christmas advert (toys).  Every little helps the largest supermarket in the country fill its overflowing pockets.  The advert tells us that Christmas has come early this year; they’re not kidding: in Morrisons, Christmas decorations have been stacked next to Halloween goodies (or baddies?) for half of September.  Don’t get me wrong – I love Christmas and the run-up to it; but it would be nice if it started on December 1st instead of October 1st.  It’s like getting nine boxes of Maltesers for your birthday: you can have too much of a good thing.  

<Short pause while I recover from my hysterical laughter>  

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Malteser Watch, Day 2  

The Laughing Housewife is now in possession of ten boxes, her Blonde Friend having made an afternoon birthday visit.    

Make that eight boxes, TLH & HBF having got stuck into the wine.  

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The kitchen is coming along.  Work has halted for a few days but the tiling will be done next week.  The story so far:  

   BEFORE  

  

  

  

BEFORE THE AFTER  

  

  

The fitters told me we have one of the biggest kitchens on the estate.  We appear to have been lucky in having a sympathetic designer.  The long counter, according to the fitters, is the longest they’ve put in on the estate (they had to take out the window to get it in the house).  I have a small under-counter freezer that will go where those bags on the right are now, and the designer must have been in a good mood because he gave me the extra bit to cover it; the counter should have stopped at the end cupboard.  He also gave me a bin space: the counter should have stopped at the washing machine.  My fridgefreezer will go where the butcher’s trolley is now.  

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The Big Tent prompt this week was to step outside and do something different, then write about it.  This wasn’t a week where I could do that, so I am sharing a pair of poems I wrote for my OU Creative Writing course, back in 2006.  They are technically still within the parameters of the prompt, because they are about two people doing something they wouldn’t normally do.  They tell the same story from the perspective of both participants. 

A Cardinal Sin 

I’m sick of being a one-man band;
Tired of playing the solo hand;
Self-confidence flagging;
Can’t go around begging.
I feel like a walking gland.
 

A mate of mine gave me a card.
‘Every man deserves a reward.
No sense feeling fearful;
They’re discreet and cheerful.
It’s time to let down your guard.’
 

He reckoned I would have a ball.
Desperate, I gave them a call.
Got to be worth a crack.
She’ll be good in the sack…
…She’s standing out in the hall.
 

Nervous, I invite her in.
Cash up front so we can begin.
We soon get down to it
But I know I blew it,
Aware that this is a sin.
 

In no danger of a rebuff,
But I still blushed; this step is tough.
The girl’s foreign body
Left me feeling shoddy.
Perhaps I was a bit rough.
 

Got out of her fast as I could.
Shudder to think it wasn’t good.
She said I was a stud
But I know I’m a dud.
Why did I join the priesthood?
 

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Prostituted  

The Man
invites me
in.
 

Devils dance inside of me.
Mere vacillation…
Impelled,
I breach my barricade.
 

Invasion.
Submission.
Profession.
 

Perdition. 

  

   

  

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