We're in the process of decorating our bedroom at the mo. It's all a bit chaotic. The room was plastered a few days ago and there was furniture everywhere; not everything has made its way back to where it belongs yet, partly because there is still painting to do so it seems a pointless to put everything back and then have to move it again. And the plaster's still not entirely dry yet. It's taking forever.
The wardrobe was one of the last things we moved out of our room, at 7.30am on the day the plasterer was coming round. D leaves for work at 7.50, so we didn't have too much time, but I didn't remember my dad and uncle having too bad a time manoeuvring it in, so I wasn't too worried.
My uncle is big and strong and excellent at spatial thinking, though. My dad's probably as strong as Paul, but I'm in no way as strong as my uncle. We should probably have factored this into our thinking.
We moved it to the doorway no problem and then tried to work out what to do next. Opposite our bedroom is an alcove where the filing cabinet lives (mostly empty, with a huge pile of filing on top - like filing cabinets everywhere). D wasn't convinced the filing cabinet needed to be moved; he thought the wardrobe would swing round sideways, straight into the next room. I knew that that plan didn't have a hope in hell of working, so I quickly emptied the filing cabinet and moved it down the corridor.
We then tipped it sideways and gently moved in through the door, sliding the bottom forwards to try and get it standing up in the hall.
But it wouldn't go.
It took a huge gouge out of the top of the alcove opposite.
I squeezed out of the bedroom into the corridor, through a gap I wouldn't have thought I would fit through, to have a look at the damage. It wasn't bad, but there were no way the wardrobe was moving, except maybe back into the bedroom. But it needed to be out of there before the plasterer showed up. At this point, I was trapped behind it and D was on the other side. I was in my dressing gown (yes, again) and sweat was pooling in the small of my back from the exertion. I'd only been out of the shower ten minutes and already I wanted another.
'Nothing for it,' he said. 'Do you have plans for this wardrobe?'
We're getting new(ish) wardrobes for the bedroom from D's mum, so we didn't need it, but I'd planned to freecycle it. It was old and a bit discoloured but would have been useful to someone. But time was ticking and D needed to be leaving soon. 'Not any more,' I answered.
So at 7.30 the other morning, D took a hammer to the wardrobe and broke it up.
The neighbours will have loved us.
Oh, and did I mention he hadn't got dressed yet? He had been in the shower and was in pants and socks.
I don't mind telling you that part of the story as he told everyone in his work. I'm sure they were thrilled when he shared. Did I mention he's only been there six weeks or so?