I picked up my camera from my parent’s yesterday and now I no longer have any excuse to not blog. We’ve swapped our bean bags for comfy sofas, assembled wardrobes the correct height, and put down grey laminate to hide the disgusting carpet we had adopted from the previous tenants. We umm-ed and ahh-ed about the latter, worried the flooring wouldn’t sit right, and after a failed attempt to pull it out (because SUPER GLUE) we had no choice but to lay the floor on top, and pray hard and hope for the best.
We’re turning our focus onto smaller things now to tie the rooms together – art work for the walls, hangers for
my our clothes, lamps for the bedside tables (which weigh next to nothing – I could lift both with one arm), and a duvet that isn’t for cats.
I couple of weeks ago I forced my cooking upon someone other than Conor, whilst he made them play several rounds (games? sets?) of ping pong on our dining table, during our first impromptu dinner party. Conor thinks the flat is finished and it’s time for a party, even though I keep stressing the flat is not ready and want to keep everyone out. No more surprise guests please – I don’t even have a fruit bowl or a plant to kill yet.
Whilst most of our time this month has been devoted to the flat (Conor fixing things, and me mostly just watching and getting in the way) we’ve been careful to schedule in time that doesn’t involve several screws and instruction manuals. Like meals out, climbing the roof of the O2, and marathon watching Breaking Bad with subtitles and doughnuts.
Conor has done almost all of the work for the flat, with a little help from his Dad. The least I can start doing is bake cookies and run a hoover through the place every now and then. Even if his comment did offend me.