Hellish Kitchen
I tell you what. Sorry, I should introduce myself again - probably. I'm Sergei Ivanovitch, possibly not my real name but certainly the owner of this sparse blog...and I seem to have been away for quite some time.
Where was I?
Oh yes...I tell you what. Kitchen nightmares. Hell's kitchens.
Mine's non existant at the moment. Mrs. Sergei and I have stayed with the same kitchen design for nearly eleven years, as we didn't know that kitchens designed by monkeys and built by gorillas during the winter of discontent ever went out of fashion.
We loved the straight edges and broken handled look. Chipped cupboards; walls that simply came to life when the artex was peeled back. Literally. We know where all the greasy spoons are gone, I can tell you.
Well now the kitchen's gone. We've bucked the trend for poverty recently, and splurged like there is no tomorrow. (Actually, there probably won't be a tomorrow according to my Bank Mangier)
The trouble is, no-one told us exactly what it is like having open-heart surgery on your house. It. Is. Horrendous. One minute you are cheerfully making a cup of what you think is tea (Earl Grey) for the contractor as he walks in for the first morning, the next you are unceremoniously dumped out of your entire life whilst he re-tunes your radio to Wogan, cracks open his own PG, and starts whistling along to Spandau Ballet - even if it's a Simple Minds song.
There's dust on the floor, rubble on the carpet, footprints on the stairs, and an unused dustsheet lying sadly nearby. Every cupboard is ripped from it's comfortable placement, every tile has seen it's last splash. No plaster has survived.
We are washing up in the bathroom for gawd's sake. Have you every tried scrubbing things whilst taking a shower for heavens sake? Oh you have. I see.
Also, we are bathing in Persil whilst still fully dressed, because the washing machine is in the garden. Actually, this particular task is quite jolly - you can generate an awful lot of bubbles whilst getting the grass stains out of junior's sports kit, whilst at the same time coming out peachy clean yourself. And smelling of roses for a change. If you add fabric conditioner too, it brings a whole new dangerous dimension to wet shaving.
Did I say we are splurging?
The bathroom is next.
I wonder if the kitchen sink is big enough for me?
And does Fairy Liquid make your skin squeak?
Bed bath anyone?
Sergei
Where was I?
Oh yes...I tell you what. Kitchen nightmares. Hell's kitchens.
Mine's non existant at the moment. Mrs. Sergei and I have stayed with the same kitchen design for nearly eleven years, as we didn't know that kitchens designed by monkeys and built by gorillas during the winter of discontent ever went out of fashion.
We loved the straight edges and broken handled look. Chipped cupboards; walls that simply came to life when the artex was peeled back. Literally. We know where all the greasy spoons are gone, I can tell you.
Well now the kitchen's gone. We've bucked the trend for poverty recently, and splurged like there is no tomorrow. (Actually, there probably won't be a tomorrow according to my Bank Mangier)
The trouble is, no-one told us exactly what it is like having open-heart surgery on your house. It. Is. Horrendous. One minute you are cheerfully making a cup of what you think is tea (Earl Grey) for the contractor as he walks in for the first morning, the next you are unceremoniously dumped out of your entire life whilst he re-tunes your radio to Wogan, cracks open his own PG, and starts whistling along to Spandau Ballet - even if it's a Simple Minds song.
There's dust on the floor, rubble on the carpet, footprints on the stairs, and an unused dustsheet lying sadly nearby. Every cupboard is ripped from it's comfortable placement, every tile has seen it's last splash. No plaster has survived.
We are washing up in the bathroom for gawd's sake. Have you every tried scrubbing things whilst taking a shower for heavens sake? Oh you have. I see.
Also, we are bathing in Persil whilst still fully dressed, because the washing machine is in the garden. Actually, this particular task is quite jolly - you can generate an awful lot of bubbles whilst getting the grass stains out of junior's sports kit, whilst at the same time coming out peachy clean yourself. And smelling of roses for a change. If you add fabric conditioner too, it brings a whole new dangerous dimension to wet shaving.
Did I say we are splurging?
The bathroom is next.
I wonder if the kitchen sink is big enough for me?
And does Fairy Liquid make your skin squeak?
Bed bath anyone?
Sergei
posted by therussian | 4/19/2009 05:28:00 PM
1 Comments:
He'd probably make it less hellish if you didn't inflict Earl Grey on him. He's not Jean-Luc Picard.
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