<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3200994\x26blogName\x3dDreadful+Nonsense\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://shazzle.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_GB\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://shazzle.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-9128930095448289160', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Only two nights left without alcohol, and the DIY illness that has been lurking around our gills has developed into a full blown fever that can no longer be denied. Last night, without a care in the world, He Who Only... grabbed his tool in his hand, mounted a chair and began to insert it right into the plaster work. I like nothing more than a man who is unafraid to wield a massive tool. You'll understand how much I enjoyed looking on in awe as He Who Only... channelled his alpha instinct and started to Do It Himself all over our flat.

The bookshelf had been the easiest of all the furniture to build, but was the last to be put in use, since our entire flat sits on a slope. No matter where we tried to place it, it wouldn't sit flush against the wall, preferring instead to lean dangerously forward, and wobble ever so slightly whenever anyone (me, He Who Only..., a ladybird) walked across the floor in front of it. We decided that, since the flatpack superstore had furnished us with a bracket to fix it to the wall, we would take them up on their kind offer and not die a horrible death crushed by books about comedians, war and being fat (the three overriding themes of our combined book collection).

And so there he was, standing on a chair, a look of incredible concentration of his face, drilling slowly and steadily through the wall. It looked to me as if the whole thing went without a hitch from beginning to end, as I only arrived at the point in proceedings where everything was done and in the process of being dusted - He Who Only... spent the rest of the night walking past the bookshelf and hitting it or tugging it or pushing it or pulling it to see if it would budge. It didn't and it still doesn't. It is my favourite thing in the world now, that book shelf, a testament to the fact that we two can be trusted with electrical tools and dangerous equipment, that we are able to go to grown up stores, buy grown up furniture, make it ourselves and then attach it to plaster covered walls.

The effect has not been diminished, but greatened, by the admission later that night that He Who Only... at one stage thought he had drilled right through the wall and into the neighbours the other side.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment