How Shit Gets Done: A Practical. Part Four: Getting It Done.

The Hell Hole held a great deal of stuff, some of it so inaccessible that the task of emptying the cupboards was less of a purge and more of a expedition of rediscovery. “Dr. Livingstone, I assume. Again. And - oh look! - you expired February 2006. How lovely for you.” Parting was sweet relief.

The Kitchen Fellas arrived about 7:15am on the designated day and backed up a large flatbed trailer up the driveway. They then proceded to indelicately bash, drill and saw the living shit out of the Hell Hole until it was in pieces small enough to extract from the house and throw onto the trailer. There were only two Kitchen Fellas; one older chap who used to play wing on the rugby pitch (so, that stood him in very good stead) and his young assistant. They were very efficient. Within hours, it was gone. All that remained was an ungodly mess, and a layer of fine and probably toxic residual dust over everything. The plumber arrived later that day to ensure all was sealed off tight. The Beloved had already sealed off the gas, but the taps needed to be cut back to the pipes to allow the new cupboards in.

The next morning, the Kitchen Fellas returned, with the trailer now carrying the Shiny New Heaven. I swear I could hear angels singing.

There was more bashing and grunting and drilling and to-ing and fro-ing and carry on, but by lunch there was a reasonable semblance of a kitchen materialising. It was this point that the Old Hell Hole exacted its revenge via one of its Appliance Minions: the Dishwasher Devil.
The outside walls of dishwashers are encased in sound-proofing and insulation material, and metal brackets for securing the dishwasher to the bench. These metal backets have inexplicably sharp edges. The Dishwasher Devil had cunningly positioned itself to intercept my path to the fridge. As I touched the Dishwasher Devil to move it aside, the bloody thing bit me hard on my right thumb, which then proceeded to bleed like a bastard. The young assistant googled me a nearby doctor, who kindly agreed to see me immediately. The young assistant drove me and the blood-soaked tea towel now wrapped around my useless thumb up to the doctor. It was a bit of a mess. Anyway, some significant pain, five stitches and half an hour in the surgery later, I had walked the ten minutes back home and was back at my desk realising just how much I use my thumb to type, and how much I love codeine. My desire for lunch had somehow dissipated.

In the meantime, the Shiny New Heaven had continued to evolve.

Aside from some minor and quickly-corrected issues with uneven handle placement and backing boards, it was all done by the day’s end. The plumber came the next day and hooked up the gas to the new hob.

The Shiny New Heaven works, a fact which excites admiring “oohs” and “aahs” from friends, but which I think is only as it should be.

We have a pantry ( WE HAVE A PANTRY!!!) in which we could store enough food to last a brief nuclear winter, and we have drawers in which we can both store things and find them later (I cannot recommend drawers highly enough. Drawers truly rock).

It was, however, over two weeks before the Beloved could do the promised electricals (oven, range hood, Dishwasher Devil). So, not quite a lesson learned, but now all the kitchen lacks is a splashback, which will be done very soon. If paying work hadn’t been such a competing priority, and if Christmas hadn’t interrupted everything, it would be done by now! However, no excuses. I just have to Get It Done.