The Welsh Dresser that we bought in a recent trip to town, I use that term loosely, has arrived. Town for us is anything larger than the hamlet we live in. There are only fourteen houses where we live and these are stretched out over a few thousand yards or so. Therefore, the nearest village is called a village, the next biggest village is a town and anything with a population of one hundred or more is definitely seen as 'town'. The Welsh Dresser came a few days ago, huffed and grunted into place as Carol nervously danced around the tiny turning circle trying to stop the movers collide into numerous piles waiting for the Welsh Dresser.
These piles are slipped between the remains of the building materials for the slate floor, slates, cement, sand, grinder, buckets, spirit levels and other miscellaneous tools that seem to be ready to spill onto the movers feet. The Welsh Dresser goes in with ease, the Armoire is a little bit more hair raising. In the end, the space we clear for this just doesn't work and we spend the afternoon moving Little D's cot bed back to the place where the Armoire is and moving the Armoire to the place that Little D's cot bed has just vacated. This is an exercise in moving things over a double bed, including Little D, who thinks the whole thing is just spiffing and climbs under the cot bed as we struggle to balance it on the edge of the bed. This is not a pretty sight, a grown man, legs stretched to soprano, with no sense of balance trying to balance a heavy object with his wife as his son giggles from one of the hiding places he has now found. These hiding places are akin to being an extra in Jaws, you know at any minute you're going to get bit and dragged under. You can hear Little D giggle and the soundtrack to Jaws hunting plays in your mind. Dun-dun-dun-dun Da-da-dar dun-dun. He comes up, licks my foot and I nearly spill off the edge of the bed. That aside, the Welsh Dresser is taking shape and Carol has spent the last hour pulling out her crockery and putting her best china away. This is not the final china to be on show, she tells me. This is just a test run. Bless, she is in heaven and Little D is back in his cot bed, in his corner of our room, humming, Dun-dun-dun-dun.
Labels: dressing, dressing the house, hamlet, home, In the house, Jaws, life on pig row, Welsh Dresser