The big reveal: Kitchen Edition

Before:  
[and I tell you, this picture is very very forgiving]

After:  

An enormous standing ovation for the two fellas who've worked slavishly for the past four days to deliver us a complete and flawless kitchen.  Not to mention immersing themselves wholly and completely in the surreal experience, that is the non-stop chatter of Milo, for the duration.  


Props to Sam the tiler, plasterer and cornice man.  And snaps to John the painter who not only did an incredible job, but offered to start the job on Saturday, and finish it on Sunday (no weekend penalty rates) just because.


We were so horribly demoralised by the experience with the painters from hell at the beginning of this journey.  So we can be nothing short of elated as we sit back and gaze and gaze and gaze at what's been achieved at the close of this chapter.


Finally.

We have running water in the kitchen

- and not down the walls!


With the hard work and diligence of Nick Plumber, Shane Sparks and Sam Tiles and Plaster, the kitchen has come along beautifully.  Appliances in and functioning.  Floors finished, walls tiles and ceilings corniced, all ready for paint.  


And you know the days, weeks, months of agonising about the floor?  Well you're not going to believe how it was resolved.  Thanks to our open fire love, and the gradual emptying of the wooded underhouse hell, I managed to locate, on the morning Sam started, jammed in a corner, under a box of pool tiles, various kitchen wall tiles and paving stones, a glimmer of hope in the shape of a broken shard of kitchen floor tile. This in turn spurred me deeper, past old clothes, chicken wire, foil insulation, piled up slate, kindling and a vital colony of daddy long legs to an entire box of unsullied floor tiles.


Such a victory.  Such great timing.  


So the floor has been finished with matching tiles.  There is no patchwork.  There is no slate (the stuff we bought was too thick, anyway).  It's all matchy matchy in the best possible way.  And its remarkable that the tiles that've been down since the house was built haven't faded or aged in any meaningful way since they were put down.  Ugly then.  Ugly now.  But at least consistently ugly across the board.


Tomorrow, David (or is it John) Paint will start undercoating the bulkheads and by early next week 
the 
kitchen 
will 
be 
finished.


So, too will be the shelves in my room - which is almost incomprehensible.


It's hard to understand, when you think about the adversity that some people have to live with (I'm thinking about carting fresh water, no food, bugs, etc) that surviving in a house with no kitchen would be such a trial.  But my word!  For this family of anti-campers, the last twenty-something days have certainly been no picnic.


I don't want to whinge (actually I do, but I won't) but instead I will observe.  


The experience of living in the House at Porter Street, when there was no kitchen, was akin to the experience of living at Riverside, the house with no drawers, but worse.  It's all piles and shuffling. And that is, every, EVERY time you need something.  No task is sufficient in itself.  Everything requires the dance around the boxes, the pondering of where things might be, the consideration of where things may reasonably and cleanly be undertaken and whether on earth it's worthwhile doing after all.


There is no room in this environment for autopilot.  Tiring.


And now, thank heavens, the end is in sight.


Stay tuned for the big reveal...coming soon.

Nuthin'

The People didn't ring, so the stone isn't in.  The flow on of the no show by "Architectural Stone" means our hopes of a functioning kitchen by end of day Monday is now a pipe dream.


To quote my dear, departed, aged aunt, in response, "Poo.  Bum.  Bugger.  Blast."


Mum and I ventured into the backyard early this arvie as the realisation dawned and summarily took out our disappointment on the wasp riddled lemon tree, which hadn't been pruned back hard enough on Thursday. 

Captured incidentally in a photo of my cat Bongo's posterior a few months ago, you can see the tree in all its leafy glory.  It's the bush behind that concrete pillar-thing at the top, centre of this frame.

When the tree people left on Thursday it was reduced to a very mini version of itself.

And today, with all the lumps cut out, we have shrunk him thusly

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.  Life's like that.  I'll feed it some Seasol and citrus food tomorrow and keep fingers crossed for a healthier tomorrow.

Kitchen Update : The Sequel Part 2

After the tree people left yesterday afternoon, as Mum and I enjoyed the sun streaming onto the patio...

(as opposed to "Before the tree people came, as Mum and I sat in the darkened kitchen resenting the dense, sun-blocking canopy of bay leaves outside, with its teeming community of spiders and insects...")

...and talked with renewed enthusiasm about the next steps, my thoughts, after 22 days without a kitchen, naturally fell once again upon the topic of Caesarstone and when our benchtops might be installed.

A couple of quick calls led me to Vince At-the-Factory who advised that there is a good chance they will be coming on Saturday morning.  Saturday morning!  That is, as I type, tomorrow.  Tomorrow!

Of course we have to wait for confirmation which will come today. 

I live in hope.

The Omega Man

What do you think of when you hear "Omega Man"?  A post-apocolyptic Charlton Heston with a few zombies thrown in for excitement.  

or a sharp looking fella with a snazzy watch?

The Omega man came to our door on Thursday, don't you know.

If you recall, our new oven was released from the bondage of its box when the kitchen cabinets were being installed, and we immediately noted some denting in the fascia  where the knobs and displays are.  Consequently we made ourselves a date with Omega's service department.

My expectation dial was set to resolution, and not expecting any sort of resistance from the company, I anticipated the guy entering our residence with a short greeting and perhaps fleeting eye contact, smalltalk as we made our way to the oven, a shaking of his head in acknowledgement of the issue, pondering (possibly aloud), offering some sort of thesis as to how this might've happened, a word of dismay that we'd been inconvenienced and a warm assurance that the matter would be taken care of, if not in that instant, within a briefest possible juncture.

Reality only mirrored my expectations in that I answered the knock of the door, walked to the kitchen, back to the front door again, and it was over.  And somehow in the intervening 15 seconds I gleaned that a replacement fascia would be ordered and we would wait for their call.


So I'm waiting...

I never anticipated the Omega Man being a person of such stealth and mystery. 

Looking good, Mortimer.

Look what Ben did today. 

Of course the blue film is still on, the bulkheads need painting, not to mention cornices and tiles, the benchtops are still 11 - 15 working days off and the plumbing and appliances aren't connected...oh, and the oven has a dent in it.  Pardon?  The oven has a dent in it?  Well actually, the oven has two dents.  Symmetrical.  Unmissable.  Look.

When I phoned Harvey Norman to advise them, I was told that we should've told them within 3 days of delivery...HA!  That's not working for me.  Anyway, they promised to ring me back with a solution by the end of the day.  Sadly they didn't.  So tomorrow I'll be following up.  


This will be fun.

The Beige Cloud: A distant memory.

We're part-way through the installation.  And although a van-load of tan-tinted detritus still litters the driveway, the nightmare fades with each passing moment.

Ben, 23, tattoos, facial piercing, newly married, hard worker, single-handedly undertook today's transformation.The cabinets are all in.  

The blue is a protective film.  It's not staying.

Tomorrow it will be bulk heads, kickboards, drawers and the template for the benchtops.

And then, in the coming weeks, just so it isn't all over too quickly, there will be installation of the benchtops, final fit of appliances, cornices, painting, tiles and the floating floors where there aren't any tiles.

We also had Shane Lopper from the Grey Army come to assess the garden.  Like a dream he gave me a pricing for all the individual trees we want taken out so if we can't scrape together the full amount, we'll be able to pick and choose our priorities.

It's all good, today.  Good good good good good.

The Beige Cloud is dispersing. Part 2. A story in pictures and a whole lot of dust.

The Beige Cloud is dispersing. Part 1

**Warning: Reality TV Spoiler Alert


So you know that old chestnut "You don't know what you've got until it's gone"?  Well. Never a truer adage has been spoken, particularly regarding the original kitchen in the House at Porter Street.


Finally finally FINALLY the dirty, filthy, nasty mess has been stood down (mirroring the fate of Garry Busey on last night's Celebrity Apprentice) in favour of the glossy mountain of blue-protective-filmed whiteness which is currently occupying the adjoining family room.


And what we didn't know until it was gone was that the original kitchen was installed straight over the frame, with no plaster board behind.  Not a conventional construction practice, but then again the thinking behind the building of the House at Porter Street could never be considered for even a moment to be standard or even logical.

This wee oversight was uncovered yesterday, and thankfully as Peter Builder is due back today, he's able to bring and fit some sheets of plasterboard so the construction of the new kitchen can commence on schedule on Monday.


The main thing now will be to ensure there are plenty of offsite things to do this weekend because living with 4.5 year old Milo in this state of flux is not very restful.

The blind man cometh...

While I sat on my bottom all day and designed my new business card, continuing to recover from the other day's painting frenzy, Mum put the first coat of semi-gloss on the shelves.

The vision is finally being realised.  I can't say how good it is to know we can start unpacking soon.  And how much I am looking forward to not having to shimmy around boxes any more.

The kitchen is being installed at the start of May, too.  My estimate of completion by 6 May was a little ambitious.  It will be all finished, done and dusted by end-May once the stone's installed, splash back chosen and installed and flooring issue resolved where the island bench is going in, and we don't have any spares of the existing tiles.  We've decided to fill the gap with a floating timber "bridge" to match the other timber in the room.  It's going to look just fine, and not be too costly.  Win.  Win.

Also, Brad Blinds came today and installed the replacement for our verticals.  They look perfect.  Exactly as I hoped.  And completely right.

Our double blinds.
The inner provide daytime privacy.
The outer are for nighttime.

We've now got them in the lounge (depicted), dining room, kitchen, family room, laundry, Dad's study and Mum got one upstairs too.

(Shutters for Mum's pine box are now coming at the end of May.)

Pardon?

The one thing I'm left pondering is why Mum didn't let Brad remove all the verticals.  For some reason she wants to keep them up for a while. (Huh??!!) Obviously, if it were me, if I had the say, those suckers would be off the windows and into the skip (the one which was meant to be collected on Saturday but remains in the driveway) quicker than, gosh, quicker than a quick thing on a speedy day.

I've chosen not to fight that battle, though.  I said my piece once and then for all intents and purposes I let it go. 

Even though I think my mother is certifiably INSANE.

Set in stone. Caesarstone.

The kitchen designer from Freedom kitchens, Beata, just left, and the ink on the contract is drying.  In six to eight weeks I should be able to post pictures of a spanking gastronomic heart: white, glossy, functional, fabulous.


And all for marginally less than the cost of a 2010 Fiat 500 Lounge.

...but you can make toast in our kitchen.

You've got to wonder when you sign up for these things how much you've been played.  And I'm cynically playing aspects of the process back in my head wondering how much of it was designed to seal the deal.


Our kitchen will be constructed of 
- seven linear metres of Organic White Caesarstone 

Looks white en masse,
but also a bit marbly for some interest,
movement and warmth.

- 17 cabinets of white Alaskan Gloss Cabinets:  manufactured and produced in Europe, 19mm moisture resistant, cold pressed MDF board with a deep gloss finish and mirror reflection. It doesn't scratch and won’t chip, peel or fade in natural light and is easy to clean.

From the Freedom Kitchen catalogue,
this is the Alaskan Gloss finish.
Shiny and nice.

The price of the cabinetry is discounted by 40% (apparently).


- Freedom are also providing a double undermounted Oliveri sink and we've already got the tap from the online auction and the other appliances we bought weeks ago waiting in the garage.


Ultimately, the proof of the pudding will be in the cooking, eating and cleaning up; how the kitchen works and how it wears.  And all that can only be known down the track.


In the meantime, I can cross kitchen off my list of things to think about, at least until the technical plans and elevations arrive next week.  And after the whole lot's in, I'll let myself begin again to ponder glass tiles.

Hip hop fails the bum test

Our new white kitchen will have an island.


[ Schwartz's Island ]


And no [kitchen] island is complete without stools.


For the longest time we've been considering the Sebastian - an Ikea stalwart.  Simple, surprisingly sturdy, understated.  Did you say affordable?  Only $59.  But I just wasn't sold on them.

Sebastian - Ikea

And then I fell in love with Matt Blatt's replica Hip Hop (shown here in silver). So cool.  And also a budget option at $89.
  

Hip Hop @ Matt Blatt

So Mum and I took advantage of a Milo free afternoon and trotted down to Matt Blatt's Richmond showroom to subject la Hip Hop to the bum test.  Alas. It failed. If my (admittedly) ample posterior was a snug fit (which it was) there was no way Papou could squeeze himself into that deceptively small moulded bucket.  (A pox on the designer, whoever "Unknown" is.)  


Gladly there were plenty of other replicants to distract a new homeowner from their cruel disappointment.


The replica Harry Bertoia.

Replica Bertoia @ Matt Blatt

Very comfy to sit and relax in, but it pinched the back of one's leg on the dismount, not such a welcome parting gesture.


The replica Johannes Anderson Allegra

Replica Allegra @ Matt Blatt

Also very comfortable, and wonderful AND classic.  But not the look we're after.


The replica Xavier Pauchard Tolix Stool

Replica Tolix @ Matt Blatt

Which Mum said was "too industrial for Papou", which I'm pretty sure means it was too industrial for her.


I like THIS one, I said to Mum, of the Venus Stool

Venus @ Matt Blatt

"I don't" said Mum.


And I was about to throw in the towel.  But then, there was this, the Maple stool.

Maple @ Matt Blatt

I don't know whose design its replicating or where it comes from, but I like it.  It has hydraulic lift and drop (handy for small people), is comfortable and supportive (important in a friend, and vital in a seat), wipe cleanable, shiny, and comes at the bargain price of $89.


We'll take four, and once they're delivered the cost will come in at $108 each.  Which is still considerably less than the most luxurious stool in the world.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you (drumroll)

Le Spighe by Claudio Silvestrin for Poltrona Frau @ Space

Le Spighe by Claudio Silvestrin.  A triumph in engineering, construction and sit-ability and all for the price of a small Korean four cylinder hatchback.  Nice.

Turning tables

Inevitably when parties come together under a single roof there will be a period of forced learning and unwilling compromise, of tongues bitten and suppressed outrage, all for the sake of peace.  


And at other times there will be out and out warfare.  And that's where Mum and I are at.  Over.  A.  Table.

To me it's a battered old thing: 

worn, imperfect, solid, functional and full of character and potential.

To Mum it's an eyesore, a piece of junk 

definitely undesirable in the pristine kitchen zone (to be).

Our conflict is borne in fundamentals:

• a difference of taste 
• a generational divide 
• a power struggle and
• a line drawn definitively in the sand.

Who will win the battle?
Who will win the war?

I'm dreaming of a white kitchen...

White - Blue

White - Blue - Dark Grey

White - Blue - Black

White - Blue

White

We've now leaning towards the all white kitchen.  We're imbuing the house with all different textures of white, to complement the existing timber, and glossy white cupboards, white benches and white glass tiles for the splashback now seem to make more sense than anything.  (Please universe, don't talk me out of the glass tiles.)


The main reason for ditching the blue, and the dark benchtops is the kitchen floor.  The immovable kitchen floor.  We've considered removing and replacing it (too costly) and ignoring it (too mustard) but really, the only way to go is incorporating and embracing it.  Visitors keep saying its neutral, not mustard, so maybe if I called it "sandy", it'd help.


Anyway, the all white kitchen is our way of working WITH the floor rather than against it.  After all, the main issue with the space isn't with the floor.  It's the symphony of brown and beige that the existing structure embodies.  


And it'll be ok because we LOVE the white. 

Moving on before moving in.

You should've seen Mum and I at Impala Kitchen Connections in Doncaster Road yesterday.  It was past 3pm and we were both rattling around inside our brains:  more than a little on the edge.  In a word, exhausted.  


The sales woman realised quickly (and cleverly) that we were best left alone with the various doors, Ceasarstone slabs and the tissue box (for it's hint of blue, so crucial to our vision).  So while she swept a colony of invading crickets out the door, we conjured up our dream kitchen.


And it's pretty lovely.  

• Shiny, glossy white doors throughout 
• Raven Caesarstone benchtops
• a blue splashback - more possibly glass than tile
• my laboratory white enamel Belfast sink
• our shiny new stainless steel and black appliances
• new stools = probably white, now the benches are dark

The Raven Caesarstone we chose tie in with the slate floors in the hallway.

Now we have three consultants booked in for next week to give us quotes and timelines so we can choose who will have the noble duty of ridding us of the cesspit.


I just have to find some suitable chunky tapwear, the lighting and the blinds...

The emperor, the stone and the porn star.

If I was appearing in an opera about dream kitchen bench tops, I'd be performing the aria about polished Caesarstone with a double bullnose edge.  It's only the colour I don't know about at this time.


The whitest white would be nice.  But then every stray crumb would drive me nuts.  (I do have a four year old, and a seventy-two year old, remember).

Something with a bit of movement and distraction might be more relaxed.

And not forgetting, our favourite, the porn princess and marble-like,

We must remember too that since the existing laminate bench tops are about a quarter the weight of caesarstone, the structure of the cabinetry will most likely have to be reinforced (or worst case scenario replaced) to support the additional weight.  (All those acursed hidden dollars.)


And I can't talk about any of this without touching on the cupboard doors.  I like shiny.  I like white.  I'm very very picky about handles.  I like pull out shelves and clever use of every available space.  


And the final element to consider, and throw some logistical complication into the mix, is the reality that the older folks have their aversion to bending, and I (with my spinal injury) have trouble storing things overhead, so the configuration is going to have to be nothing short of genius.


Ah me!  This kitchen.


And don't get me started on stools...

Underfoot...

We intend to stay at the house in Porter Street until cardboard coffins and funeral pyres engulf us, so although I would love to undertake an enormous renovation the instant we take possession, it is much more prudent (and in line with reality) to plan to change/update/improve all the things that need doing, over time.  Say, over the next 20 years.

That said let me bring to your attention to the tiles that flow through the formal dining, kitchen and family room areas.  The space is vast (I'll tell you how many square metres after I've learned how to do maths) and it's wall to wall this...

We didn't buy the rug.

My rational response to these tiles is that they are probably very forgiving and practical.  I am sure they will hide a multitude of sins and they are in incredibly good nick.  The emotional response is somewhat more withering.  I think its the colour that makes them seem tired and dull.  And since there is such a huge quantity of them they a bit depressing.

It's going to be interesting to see if they seem less tired when the walls are spanking white.  My mind is open.  And hope fills my heart...

However, if this doesn't come to pass, what about these PLI Wood-like Series tiles.

PLI Wood-like Series tiles in white.

They don't just look like distressed timber boards, the blurb says they feel like them too.  They're strong enough for indoor and outdoor high traffic areas, and I think I may be in love.

Wondering if they're available in Australia : hastingstilebath.com

Riverside done got no drawers

The house we are renting now has just one redeeming aspect: a lovely, light airy living space attached to its at best rudimentary kitchen.  While we've been here I've found, that of its many, many, negatives, the most vexing is its lack of storage.  

Food preparation area
and kitchen sink, providing a
generous 70cms of bench space to
accommodate the most challenging
culinary undertaking.

Pantry

There are NO DRAWERS.  

There are NO WARDROBES.  And as far as other utility cupboards are concerned, there are three hall cupboards (one larger, two smaller) and these beauties in the kitchen. 

This brings me to the House at Porter Street.  I know the decor is a little dated, but it is hard not to notice all those banks and banks of cupboards.  

And that's just the kitchen. There are enormous built-in-robes in the bedrooms and a monster linen press in the hallway.  There is also supplementary storage under the stairs, in the walls, in the roof, under the house and in the garage.   And there are even cupboards in the laundry.  

I wouldn't say we chose the house because of the cupboards...but they didn't hurt.