It all started when I decided to clean the bathroom. I usually favour the QuentinCrisp Theory of Housekeeping, which holds that, if you leave it alone, after four years it never looks any worse. I reckon it's actually about six months. However, even I admit that it wouldn't be a good idea to apply this method to a bathroom, so I generally tend to wipe the surfaces when I see them in daylight. This time, though, I decided to do it properly. I rolled up my trouser legs and stood in the bath, spraying Cillit Bang over the tiles and nearly choking myself in the process. It might have been sensible to open a window, except my bathroom doesn't have one, and I can't reach the one on the landing. Then I rinsed it off with the shower. Well, why not?
I'll tell
you why not. The tiles {and
presumably the grout} are at least 30 years old, and the plastic seal round
the bath is not as secure as it was. I didn't notice a problem myself,
until a few weeks later when a visitor pointed out the brown marks on the
living room ceiling. We kept an eye on
them and, since they didn't start looking any worse, we left them alone for six
months.
Last week,
my beloved emerged, like a bear from hibernation, and announced he was going to
paint over them. That seemed to work, so he decided to do the whole
ceiling and a couple of walls. I agreed this was a good idea, especially
if he could repair the nasty crack at the top of the wall at the same time.
As we were
moving the sofa, I remembered how much I enjoy rearranging furniture.
When I was teaching I did it all the time, sometimes even during lessons.
The poor kids never knew what they were going to come in to, and the caretaker
despaired of me. I'd assumed that there was only one possible arrangement
in my living room, but no! The only problem was the television. It's
small and standing on the floor, as I don't like it dominating the room.
Unfortunately, it's too small and low down to see properly, especially now that
I need glasses to even recognise full-sized people in the street. I use
the remote control to get programme information, then have to walk across the
room to read it. But with the sofa now in a different place, I'd be closer
to the TV... and after we'd carried the chest of drawers down from the spare
bedroom and put the TV on top, it was the right height. AND it hid the
tangle of wires behind it. Bonus!
The best bit
of the new arrangement, though, is what I grandly refer to as my study, which
is actually the space under the stairs. By turning my desk and chair
round ninety degrees I have more space, a whole load of untidy tut is hidden
behind the sofa, and I no longer bung up the Ch'i of the entire ground floor {or trip up anyone coming out of the
kitchen}.
You will
notice that I have a large number of pictures. That was the only problem
with moving everything round, as I've had to rearrange them as well.
Items that were on top of the bookcase don't look right there any more, and I
don't think it's a good place for candles. I have now run out of hooks,
so there are quite a few pictures still stacked up against various walls.
I expect I'll get used to them.
The really
best bit of the whole process, though, is that I now have a view out of the
window when I look up from writing, rather than having to stare blankly at the
wall. Distracting? Nah, inspirational!
