We are currently having (and have been having for what feels like an eternity) an extension built, and new kitchen put in . The plan was to have it finished for Christmas. To hark back to school days in summary of this ever being the case. . . “CHINNY RECKOOON!” and to put it bluntly . . .
. . . I WANT MY NEW KITCHEN! I WANT MY NEW KITCHEN! I WANT MY NEW KITCHEN!
The new kitchen will make everything in my life ok again. The new kitchen will inspire me to cook only fresh home-made meals of health and loveliness. The new kitchen: from which I shall emerge a vision of 1950s house-wife glamour as my husband arrives home from a hard day’s work. Spatula in hand, crisp floral pinny cinched around my size 8 waist (MY fantasy!) delicious odours wafting from behind me and child well-behaved and immaculately groomed waiting happily at the new kitchen table for tea. I shall kiss said husband tenderly, flit over effortlessly to pull him a chair out and crack open a nice cold beer for him. Probably giving the tea a quick stir and a taste en-route. Sigh.
The current reality is that I stagger through the front door, knackered after a day of dealing with teenage angst, arms filled with baby/shopping/handbag etc, and am greeted by various strangers bearing various power tools and asking “you brewing up love?” Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!
To make a bottle, a brew, or get tea ready at the moment, it is imperative to don hat and scarf as there’s no insulation and it’s freeeeeeezing. You can literally see your breath. Then the following must occur:
- Pull down the door handle.
- Kick the door very hard approximately 2 inches under said handle in order for it to open.
- Step over the plethora of planks, tools and ladders to get to the oven or hob.
- Wipe over the oven or hob as required due to the blanket of brick-dust and refuse that has landed on it during the 10 seconds since I last wiped it.
- Kettle and microwave are accessed by ducking under a cobweb of electrical wires, stepping over the gap in the floor, and being very careful not to knock them off the workmate bench they’re currently balanced on.
- Getting whatever you need done as quickly as possible so you don’t catch pneumonia or breathe in too much brick-dust.
I am SO sick and tired of the begrimed no-mans-land hell that is my current kitchen. I keep looking at the catalogue. It calls to me like a beacon of high-gloss delectable kitcheny gorgeousness, and flops open automatically at the page with the units we’ve ordered on it. It is my pornography.
And the cherry on the frickin cake? It would seem that the BESTEST, most exciting, stimulating place to be if you’re my one year old daughter, is this on-going building site. There is apparently nothing more fun than toddling amongst the live wires and power tools, clapping, laughing and stomping and stomping, because the temporary floor boarding just makes the best sound. All the while my other half is beaming down with pride at her, convinced that this is an indication she’ll grow up to be an electrical engineer. (?!)
God of home improvements – give me strength.
Next step – sink and remaining few functional units ripped out.
I think I’ll just go and rock quietly in a corner for a while. Ta ta x