Today was C-Day. Or Carpets down-Day. Those of you who read this blog regularly know that we’re currently ‘doing the house up’. This has meant no heating, bathrooms, loos or bedrooms for a best part of two months. We’ve been camping out in a summer cottage which thankfully has proved warm and cozy. It has also meant that the grown up children had no-where to retreat to and that we’ve only had the kitchen to live, work and relax in. All in the faint hope that afterwards we’ll be living in a more beautiful, tidy and valuable house.
Early on this momentous morning the carpet fitters turned up at the correct time, and were soon cheerfully laying green underlay in the rooms upstairs.
Our only worry was that the builder hadn’t quite finished his work the night before, and even though he’d promised to be on site again at eight sharp, he’d still not turned up by ten o’clock. Apart from having a faint worry I might have poisoned him with my cooking the night before, in the main I was bloody pissed off at his tardiness. But the friendly Welsh carpet fitters weren’t phased by the missing bits of hardboard on the landing and said they’d do as much as they could while waiting for the builder.
Husband made them tea and I sighed. Half an hour later the builder arrived and I smiled. ‘It’ll be ready now won’t it?’ I asked Husband. He shrugged his shoulders.
All was going well for about the next hour. ‘You’d better come and have a look at this,’ said Husband. He’d appeared at the kitchen doorway.
The carpet was not the one we’d chosen. The colour was right but the pattern was wrong. We’d decided against it because although it had a beautiful wave, it couldn’t be used for the landing or the stairs. And I really wanted the same carpet throughout the upper floor.
Even though the fitters were piggy-in-the-middle between us and the carpet store, they acknowledged the mistake was the shop’s, not ours. ‘Not sure if the one you want is in stock,’ one of them said looking at me from under his eyebrows. He’d dealt admirably with our ‘Oh Noooo’ discovery and my initial hyperventilating.
While Husband and I stood over the one wrongly carpeted room, and the friendly Welshmen and the builder were silent, holding their collective breath, it occurred to me the colour of the carpet was exactly the same as my nails.
I know what I should have been worrying about was that today was the day we were supposed to finally move back into our house, and into some kind of normality. Daughter was back from decamping at her Grandmother’s house and Son’s train was due at the station in a few hours time. Without carpets we wouldn’t have anywhere for them to sleep.
And the same shade as these Lavin shoes I’ve been drooling over at Net-a-porter.
‘So what do you think, darling?’ Husband asked. His voice sounded worried. Everyone’s eyes were on me.
‘Oh,’ I said snapping out of my Particuliere dream.
‘We can lay it and then you decide later?’ said the carpet fitter. His face was dripping with sweat. ‘I do apologise,’ he added and wiped it with the back of his hand.
‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘We’ll do that.’
Husband gave me a puzzled look and turned to the men, ‘You heard what the lady said.’
There was a collective sigh of relief. The bustle of activity restarted.
But there was only one question puzzling me, ‘Who was first, me or Dior?’