Thursday, 25 October 2012

Rumour. Fish. Monkey. Iron.

Furniture goes on the floor, not the door. It's the second rule of Furniture Club.

From the Iron Age and the Brass Age to the Satin Nickel and Brushed Steel Age, it has been easy to distinguish doors and furniture; you go through one to sit on the other. Maybe you're being a bit daring and sit on one whilst looking through another and eating from a third but there was never any real confusion. Doors is doors sure as apples is apples. Furniture is a necessary evil.

So this week has been a revelation. Not a pleasant revelation but more of a wake-up call. No, less of a wake-up call but more of a discovery. Well, not really a discovery but more of a rude awakening. Yes, that's it: a rude awakening. Coupled with several strong doses of frustration and two cups of anger. Not the sort of awakening anyone would seek but should actively avoid.

The house renovation is getting towards the end of the notoriously difficult second year: Justin Timberframe D'Window Repair Man has been singing all week and this has necessitated the purchase of new door and window locks, handles, casement fucking fasteners and stays. Collectively, I would describe them as "door and window stuff" or "doorwear" though I'd probably not use the second one and stick with the first, perhaps adding a "you know, handles and locks; that sort of thing" if there was any confusion apparent on the interlocutor's visage.

However, Sarah Beeny and the people on the daytime home improvement shows are probably the ones who decided to create a perfectly unnecessary collective noun: "door furniture". Door. Furniture.



Try it out for size. Feel it on your tongue. Doesn't sit quite right does it? Leaves a bad taste, doesn't it? Stop saying it, have a mint and count yourself lucky that you're not me.

Now say 'mongery'. It's a lot more fun and removes the memory of that previous collective noun.

Rumour. Fish. Monkey. Iron.

The search for some door and window stuff, you know, handles and locks, that sort of thing began in earnest on Monday. Within seconds you discover that there are numerous websites that deal in the world of door and window stuff, you know, handles and locks, that sort of thing and quickly you work out that the ones you like cost an arm and a leg. There's no point getting fancy-dan window locks for the upstairs if you've got to sell your other arm and leg to buy the Stannah stair lift to take you there. The decision of 'Selling All Limbs versus A Less Expensive Lock' is one that is quickly made with few regrets.

Within minutes you've settled on some pretty handles for the back door, some more-or-less matching casement fasteners and stays for the kitchen window; 12 stays and 5 other fasteners for the rest of the house and Robert's your Mother's brother, you're done. Put your feet up and have a biscuit.

But then the doubts start to creep in. Do I want monkey-tail or shepherds crook? Antique iron or polished brass. Maybe I'll just have another quick look.

For five hours.

Per night.

For three days.

And in the end you buy the things you chose two nights and 10 hours ago purely because you liked them in the first place, you've spent all your energy fighting about brushed or satin and there is nothing left to do other than order stuff that nobody likes any longer. Resignedly, as you fight with the Visa Verified thing, you dismiss the purchase with a 'fuck it, it's only door and window stuff, you know, handles and locks, that sort of thing' and go to bed. Angry.

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