When we bought this house, thirteen years ago, the kitchen was one of the things that mattered. At the time we had two small boys – Mouse was four and Hairy was seven – and I wanted a big room, where Handsome could cook and the boys could do their homework, and we could all eat breakfast and lunch and be a family together. I even allowed war-hammer model painting in there….
The room is massive, by the way.
And now, after many, many years of cooking and full cupboards and kneading of bread on worktops and suchforth, the long worktop (the one that is a non-standard size, no sorry, just a slightly more non-standard size than the rest) is coming away from the walls and bringing most of the cupboards with it. We were already living with the bits of cupboard door that Handsome set fire to whilst flambéing things, and the lack of bits around the bottoms of the units, and the scratched perspex table (all those war-hammer models…), but I suspect that we cannot live with most of the contents of the cupboards on the floor.
Handsome bought temporary replacement feet and propped the cupboards up, but he admitted that it wouldn’t last because the bases have collapsed, so we have been fantasy kitchen shopping this week. He is at this moment now fantasy designing on the computer; there has been a lot of squared paper and tape-measuring going on. Vicarious pleasure, he certainly doesn’t have the time to do this job himself.
Fantasy may well be quite a long way from reality – it would be lovely to have a solid oak oiled worktop all the way round, but we would need one three metre and two four metre lengths. That’s not going to happen! Handsome really, really wants a range, but I would have to sell a child, and Mouse will be eighteen in April, so I don’t have long… Remind me again why I wanted a kitchen the size of a small football pitch?