Swings and roundabouts

It's set to be a productive week on the flat front: the fireplace was delivered yesterday and is due for installation tomorrow; the last bit of joinery work was scheduled for today, as was the delivery of my ever so lovely glass desk, and I'd arranged for someone to come around to cut a template for the granite countertop in the kitchen. And yesteray I had a rather pleasant surprise: it turns out that I'd already been quoted for the fireplace installation, and it was included in the figure I'd already paid the heating engineer when he installed the boiler. I hadn't realised this, and I'd budgeted for installation seperately. Considering that the last few months have been marked by a dizzying series of upward revisions to my budget, this was a most pleasant change of events. The sun was shining outside, birds were singing, and I had some spare money. It was going to be a good day.

Let's take the delivery of the desk first. The gods of delivery men must have taken pity on me after my recent rant, as the truck containing the desk turned up exactly when I was told it would. I'd actually ordered a desk and a coffee table in the same style, but it was the desk I was most excited about. My coffee table was swiftly unloaded from the truck, and I gave it a quick examination to ensure it was still in one piece (bearing in mind my fortunes recently, I'd mentally prepared for the worst). And it was!. "Great, now where's my desk?" I asked the delivery man, looking for, and unable to see, a desk shaped cardboard box in the rather capacious lorry. "Well, " he replied, "you see that big crate in over there?" He pointed, at the enormous crate in the middle of the truck which was obviously obstructing my view of my shiny new desk. I nodded in response, whilst peering around the crate in a effort to glimpse my desk.

"It's in there," he said.
"In the truck?" I replied hopefully.
"In the crate."
"Of course it is," I answered.
"Where should we put it?"
I pointed where it should go.
"It's not going to fit down there."
"I know."

In the end, all they could do was leave it atop the stairs leading down to my flat. I sat next to my crate and looked rather dejected. I could feel my luck draining away.

But then, as if by magic, the joiner appeared! The gods of good time were also favouring me it seemed. He was able to lend me a claw hammer to pick apart the crate, which was rather a heart-in-mouth experience. If ever you happen to find yourself with an object consisting entirely of a 2 square meters of solid glass encased in a wooden crate and in need of assistance unpacking, please don't call me. There are many people in this world who thrive when tools like hammers and saws and screwdrivers are thrust upon them. I am not one of those people. I set about my task of delivering my desk from the crate with the utmost of care and with my heart firmly lodged in my mouth. It wasn't a fun task. The awareness that a single wrong movement could convert my desk into a shower of fragments hung heavy on my mind. But I managed it without incident. I stood before my desk and a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds bathing myself and desk in a pool of light, the strains of a heavenly chorus wafting through the air. Everything was going to be all right, I could tell. The joiner even offered to remove a door to further ease getting it into the flat as well as giving me a hand to shift it down the stairs. His presence there was a most fortuitous coindence since I would have been in serious trouble otherwise. With his aid the desk was installed into the flat. Intact!

And then the workmen arrived to cut the template for the countertop. It was starting to get a little crowded in my flat, but the flurry of activity was more than welcome. "You should have been here a couple of weeks ago, " the joiner remarked, "you couldn't move in here." "I know exactly what that's like," I answered, "I've been trying to move in here for the past six months..."

It was a good day. Progress has been made, both visible and unseen - the worktop should be installed in a few weeks, I've got a tiler arranged. The last bit of plastering is due on Thursday. The wheels of progress are turning!

I sat out in the sun for a little pondering how I might spend the money I saved on the fireplace. It's wasn't a vast sum of money - only about £380, but it was pleasant to have. The only purchases of note I've made over the last six months have been flat purchases. I've bought some extravagant items to be sure, but all with a specific goal in mind - nothing frivolous. No treats. And here I was with this small pile of money, with most everything already budgeted for, and I could spend it on whatever I wanted. A DVD player, perhaps. Or a Mac Mini. Or perhaps I could put it towards a new laptop. I revelled in the possibilities and continued to revel even as the phone rang.

It was the about the granite countertop. They'd received the template and everything was still on schedule. I heaved a sigh of relief inside. Thank goodness. However, the template was slightly more complex than they'd originally costed for. I'd been amused at the time, whilst watching the guys at work, by the suprising absence of right angles and straight lines in my kitchen. They all look straight and right angled at first glance, but they're not quite. "I'm afraid it will cost a little more as a result," the voice on the phone told me. Of course it would. "About £380 more?", I hazarded. "How did you know?" she replied.

"Just a feeling I had."

But you know what, despite that, it was still a good day.