Leigh Check Measure, came just now and carted off the last vestige of beige. Eff the Royal wedding! Now's the time for a knees up and cracking of the Moet. You see, I was perfectly correct in my thinking that the moment all that buff was banished from our environs, the House at Porter Street would really truly and completely feel like OUR HOUSE and not a remnant of the previous incumbents. It's all so much brighter and lighter and cleaner and nicer. It's impossible not to look upon the early part of next week, new kitchen albeit sans benchtops, with delicious anticipation and excitement.
A collective noun of tradies came through yesterday:
The aforementioned Leigh, agent of Freedom Kitchens, with crowbar and barrow to continue the dismantling of the previous day.
Nick Plumber, worth his weight in gold, identified a potentially lethal hazard of which we were wholly oblivious. The hot water service, nestling near the verandah was so choking with ivy and jasmine that the vents were totally obscured. It was at risk of exploding. Or, as the carbon monoxide was trapped, creating some sort of lethal circumstance if the window was open and the wind blowing the wrong way. Such badness. And we were clueless. A recipe for tragedy. So happy for Nick. He DID growl though.
A sparky who relocated and installed new powerpoints was welcome, but not so memorable as the others. His name was not committed to memory.
Peter Builder successfully covered my entire bedroom (yet again) with a thick film of dust under the guise of sanding my shelves and saved our bacon by obtaining and fitting vast pieces of plasterboard to the kitchen walls where there should've been some but wasn't.
And finally Walter Gardener to whom we are thinking of giving the big FO. He is very pricey, charging $50 an hour, and a large portion of each of those hours seems to be spent by us convincing him to undertake the things we want him to do. Such resistance is not welcome when it's on our clock and when we already have a clear idea of what we want to achieve, and he just doesn't get it...
However, yesterday, he and his sidekick (therefore $100 per hour) did manage to get the lawns mowed, further poison the ivy and move the previously mentioned jasmine away from the hot water thingo.
Obviously yesterday was an expensive day. However I was too excited by the Royal Wedding to blog about it. I was too tired from the rigours of cleaning a building site, dusting my room from ceiling to floor and endless mopping, to share my incisive observations about living in a house with no kitchen. And as I eventually entered the Land of Nod, too pleased by my Blues' victory over the Swans (in Sydney, finally) to do anything but go to sleep happy.
[Strike up the chorus.]