Skip to main content

A moment of joy

Finally, after two years of saving and scraping, going through planning permission, negotiating with the leaseholder, getting quotes from numerous builders and many trips to Ikea, our kitchen extension is nearly finished.

As I type the sitting room is full of boxes - the rest of the flat-packed kitchen units, assorted lighting and a range of strange objects that will no doubt prove essential - with a fine layer of dust on every surface and piles of stuff everywhere. Alpha (who, in my unlearned opinion, is borderline OCD) is tearing his hair out and even I am getting a little twitchy. The kids love it though; chaos is integral to their state of being.

I would very much like to post a 'before' picture of the gloomy, pigeon-poo splattered side return with an 'after' shot of my 85% completed new kitchen with glass roof and electronic windows (the excitement!), soft-close doors (the joy!), pull out larder (I can barely contain myself!) and laundry area (be still my beating heart!) but I can't find the lead for my camera; a state of affairs that currently seems to apply to every object I own. The disorder in the sitting room is understandable but I'm still baffled as to why the building work has made my entire sock collection disappear.

The appliances go in on Monday and then the count-down to completion can start in earnest. I can hardly wait. Dusting has never seemed so appealing.

Comments

Corey said…
Congrats! Keep looking for the camera part... I'd love to see some photos!
sarah said…
There is nothing nicer than a new kitchen! We just finished ours in October and sometimes I just go sit on the floor in there and smile.

There are before (oh, the horror!) and afters (joy!) in my blog. It's still tiny, but so pretty.

Congrats!

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …