Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Changing Rooms

My life used to resemble a soap opera. I used to enjoy love-life ups and downs to match Kat Slater. Now I have settled down into a middle class cliché that makes me feel more Charlie. I’ve become less Eastenders and distinctly more Archers. And, as if to prove a point, I spent much of the bank-holiday weekend in MFI. How settled-down, suburban clichéd is that?

The reason for the trip to MFI is that I am on the lookout for a new kitchen and bathroom. I’ve been in my flat for nearly five years and, apart from the lime green anaglypta wall paper, which frankly just HAD to go, I have not decorated at all. But I feel that the time has now come to do some serious DIY. Well, not so much do it myself as getting a man in and paying him to do it himself.

I have collected quotes from various plumbers and builders, all Polish, of course and now just have to decide how much I’m prepared to pay for all this interior re-design. I’ve realised that I can really only afford to push the boat on either the kitchen or the bathroom, but not both. I’m going to have to settle for something fairly ordinary in one room so that I can buy something fabulous in the other. After much thought, I think I’m going to splash out on the bathroom. No pun intended. My logic being that if cooking in a fairly ordinary kitchen gets me down I can cheer myself up by soaking in my fabulous state-of-the-art bathroom. It doesn’t work the other way round. After taking a dip in a very basic Homebase tub I’m not going to feel any better by cooking an omelette in an Aga.

I mentioned to my dad that I’m buying a new kitchen. He kindly offered to help me pay for it on the condition that I keep it Kosher. I told him if he gets me a Poggenpohl I’ll go Glatt. He didn’t take the bait. But it’s a very kind offer. I wonder if the same applies to the bathroom. I must try to find some kind of mikve angle. Anyway, the Polish plumber promises to start work in August, which gives me just 3 months left to eat kid-goats cooked in their mother’s milk.

Wasting no time at all, Scrappino and I went to McDonalds at Brent Cross on Sunday. I know I know. But it could be worse. We could have gone on Saturday. Although that might have been preferable. Had we been there on Saturday we wouldn’t have bumped into the Rabbi’s wife on the way out of the restaurant. She tried not to look too disapproving as she saw us holding take-away bags. I mumbled something about looking after it for a friend, but I don’t think she believed us.

So when I’m not avoiding the moral majority at McDonalds, I seem to be spending every waking moment eating, sleeping and breathing new kitchens and bathrooms. I have virtually memorised the MFI catalogue by heart. I can tell you the width of every kitchen cupboard, the depth of every toilet, the pressure of every shower. I’ve memorised the prices too. I saw a jacket in Brent Cross that cost £45. I immediately worked out that was worth two chrome bath taps. Or a carousel pan drawer. Not that I’m getting obsessed or anything. I am assured that all the worrying and decision making, not to mention the upheaval, will be worth it in the end. It had better be. I’ll need something to make up for giving up the burgers.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

My name is sloba and ive been in the uk for a few days im looking to do work in peoples houses. back home i did pluming and bilding work i could give you a cost for your bathroom and kitchen is there away i can call you.i can give you references of other jobs i did.

Sloba dounmikokubich

2:12 pm  
Blogger timecharger said...

poggenpohl/glatt - excellent

slobba's post is very good (although not a touch on your blog, of course of course)

1:24 pm  

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