Moving Furniture About...

I've been back in my supervisory role this afternoon while Himself has been moving furniture...

My job is easy...consists mostly of shouting ...Mind the dog!...as he treads on Millie's paw and she hobbles into the kitchen to get out of the way or when he clunks Bobby across the head with a drawer from the tatty old sideboard...

That old sideboard was in the bedroom...full of my family history stuff...it needs sorting out, but it's a task I endlessly put off doing. So that sideboard is good for nothing but firewood...in its place will be the very nice indeed chest of drawers which we were given and is in the sitting-room...and that is bursting with sheets and towels while the bottom drawer...the last time I looked anyway...the bottom drawer has the Scrabble set, plus about a thousand photographs...none of which are in any kind of order. Which is why I peek in there about once a year...shudder...and close it again.

That'll leave enough space to put the smaller table up against the wall...the lovely big table...custom made for me years ago by a barefoot Swede who refused to pay the portion of his Council Tax which went to armament...don't know how he worked it out but he did...that'll have to go back into the barn.

He wore his hair in a thick plait that almost reached his waist and was in constant demand from dribbling women all wanting a piece of handmade furniture...the more complicated the item, the longer they could spend in his workshop drooling...I didn't of course...he grew cannabis plants among the sunflowers in his garden...everyone pretended they didn't know what they were.

Where was I...Himself moving furniture...

By the time he'd heaved the old sideboard outside and cleaned up the swathes of dirty grey cobwebs which had been lurking behind it for years, he'd had enough and I can't say I blame him.

Tomorrow is another day...