We've moved in!
Now, just moving in was far too easy a challenge for us. So we thought we'd move in between Christmas and New Year. And host a New Year's Eve party. And have my parents to stay the week after.
So that wasn't stressful at all.
Of course, it would have been a lot less stressful if we didn't have to put together a whole house worth of I**a furniture, as well as packing, unpacking, and cleaning. And cooking for 20+ people.
So, step one: put together the headboard for the bed.
Ta da!
Step two: put together the bed.
No photos to show you here. Why? Because constructing it took Rob the same amount of time as it took me to pack up an entire flat, move it round the corner, unpack it, clean the new flat, and clean the old flat. And cook dinner. Every time I went to check on progress, I found him squatting on the floor, staring in an increasingly wild way at various pieces of white wood, every now and again muttering about screws and rawlplugs. He emerged 9 hours later looking haggard, and, frankly, with elements of PTSD. We don't talk about it. Don't ask him about it. Suffice to say, I**a haven't redeemed themselves in his eyes at all.
Step three: put together the sofas.
Easier than the beds, but my goodness, putting the covers on is almost certainly more difficult than child birth*. The sofa sections are also remarkably heavy, tempting us to leave them as a modern art installation (Nunhead on the rocks):
But we didn't, you'll be pleased to hear.
It will interest you to know that the Prime Minister of Denmark has this sofa (at least, she does in Borgen.)
Step four: replace the front door.
We didn't do this ourselves. A nice Irish man, with his nice Polish friend arrived at 8am on a Saturday morning to do it. With his pneumatic drill. Our neighbours may never forgive us.
Here's the old door, being used as a table for some reason:
And here's a close up of the new door - complete with James Bond style steel bolts. Rob tells me that it would be easier to get through the wall with a battering ram than through the door.
It's the same one as the door in the art vault at Christie's. I haven't yet tested whether it's the same key.
(their's may not be blue).
After all this industrious-ness, we ran out of steam. And power tools. And skills.
There was only one thing for it.
We needed a Dad.
Here's mine! (he's the one on the left).
Note Rob's reversion to the role of the nine-year old child, watching Dad-skills in action using a jigsaw.
Dad then turned his hand to putting up our light fittings.
First: stand on a ladder.
Second: realise you should have turned off the mains power first.
Third: realise you don't have the required Dad-skills to complete the job and let a Dad get on with it.
Four: panic because Dad's head has been replaced by a Danish light fitting.
Five: stand back and admire your handiwork.
The Prime Minister of Denmark has this light fitting.
Having put this one up, Rob and Dad decided that putting light fittings up would be much easier in the daylight. So the Italian light for the dining table had to wait until the next day. Plus, it was becoming tricky to cook dinner in the dark.
Now, the Italian light is heavy. And awkward. And the ceilings are high. So some scaffolding was required in order to support the light during installation. Hmmm....
We don't have any scaffolding, so Dad decided to practice his Chinese acrobat chair balancing trick instead.
And... drum roll....
Here it is!
This one is not owned by the Prime Minister of Denmark, but I bet she wishes it was.
Here it is from outside:
And I know you can't see it from this photo, but the house does look rather nice in the snow.
So only a few more things to go, then we are finished.
Don't tell Rob, but there's another I**a bed to construct.
*almost certainly not
