Cupboard love

I set about the cupboards this morning, having run out of decent opportunities to procrastinate.

There are times in life when the actual dreading something and avoiding it turns out, in the end, to have been worse than the actual thing itself.

This was not one of those times.

Quite the reverse.

The cupboards had been screwed to the wall. I think Mark must have had a little think before he did this about where he might find the most inaccessible places for siting screws.

I faffed about with these bits for ages. In the end I thought that probably I had released everything and gave the cupboards a little tug to see if they would move, at which point the legs collapsed and the whole thing tumbled forwards on to its nose. You can see this in the picture.

Behind it was a hideous mess of cobwebs and dirt and a disgustingly unmistakeable odour of ancient dog poo. This was left over from Roger Poopy’s extreme youth, when he had lots of poopy brothers and sisters, and they used to squeeze through the tiny gap and play underneath the cupboards. We did not notice the smell of dog poo then, because poopies smell so generally awful anyway. I know they look cute, but honestly, they are nicer in photographs.

Beside the pong of disturbed dog poo, there was a multiplicity of enormous spiders, who had probably survived by eating a poopy or two. These did not appear at all discomfited by the sudden flood of light into their secret dark lair, and held their ground, threateningly, in a non-negotiable sort of way.

I left them where they were for Mark to worry about later.

Regrettably, the cupboards had not collapsed to the point where you can pick up the bits and have a cup of tea whilst you marvel at all the dust you have created.

They collapsed to the point where they were stuck in a big, immovable lump in the middle of the floor.

The cupboards were still screwed together.

The screws for these turned out to be in the central bit, buried underneath the drawers.

The drawers would not open any more, being jammed open on to the floor where the thing had fallen over.

I could not get the drawers out.

I could not reach the screws.

Mark had taken his big crowbar to work with him. I had a screwdriver and a bad temper at my disposal.

I used both of these.

Several trapped fingers and a torn dress later I had bashed them apart. Mark had screwed the cupboards together through the holes in the drawer runners. I had not thought of that and could not get to them in any case.

I stacked them in the corner of the kitchen, with some difficulty, because they were very heavy.

Then I started to clear up.

I swept up dust and cobwebs and ancient poops, and then a chance flip of the carpet led me to an upsetting discovery.

Underneath the carpet the floor was utterly blackened with mould.

Just under the carpet was a layer of fibre board. This was so mouldy that it broke into pieces in my fingers as I touched it.

The carpet is not really carpet, but a sort of furry lino, because of its easy-clean properties. It had a rubber back, which had obviously stopped the air from circulating.

The smell was actually worse than the dog poo, so I put it back down again.

It is all going to have to come out.

Fortunately, at that moment my phone buzzed, and it was the Peppers inviting me for an afternoon cup of tea.

I trotted out of the door as fast as my little feet would go.

I did not want to come back home again, to brave the mould and the spiders and the tear in my skirt and the mess in the kitchen, but I had to, not least because Oliver rang me up to tell me that the electricity had gone off.

I cleared it all up, slowly and without enthusiasm. Obviously I did not pull the carpet up, because it is underneath a huge pile of kitchen units, two dressers, a table and chairs and a grandfather clock, but I am going to have to do this sooner or later.

How I am looking forward to it.