Not a saga, not really. I tried to think of the right word and all I could come up with was ‘ragu’ and that’s definitely not the right one. Nobody wants a floor ragu.
Here it is in all its sexy glory. My new hallway flooring, floor hall. Look at it as it stretches off into the distance because, yes, it is quite a long hallway. It would take a few strides to get up and down there, even with Kev and his gigantic pair of legs.
The original planning phase begin in November of last year. Me being the ultimate slob I am decided to wait until Christmas was done before commencing any work. Then I temporary lost my hearing in one ear and had to wait until Boots was ready to suck out the various globules of wax hiding in my ear canal. Then some other things happened that stopped me from doing it. Then my installer got covid. It’s been one hell of a ride.
Don’t look too closely at the edges though because Council architecture, like most things, is not infallible and after sixty years there has been a bit of movement. How do I know this? Because when we were laying the floor from the front door down towards the living room the wall seemed to bend slightly to the right meaning the perfect symmetry we had going on at the beginning wasn’t present anymore. The further in we went a thin section remained uncovered along the edge. It wasn’t even a straight line too, the git. This then meant that muggins here had to use all the offcuts to try and wallpaper over the cracks (so to speak) to avoid spoiling the illusion of goodness.
Patience is a virtue. In my post-covid blues state, off work and with not much else to be getting on with, I cut the remaining pieces needed to finish the job. Similar to all great works of art, from a distance the integrity and the beauty remains intact. Get close though, dangerously close, and all its shortcomings will become apparent. I therefore ask that you only inspect the floor using your regular eyes, possibly from six feet away, wearing a pair of sunglasses and being distracted by genies.
I don’t think that’s asking too much?
When is a saga not a saga? When it’s a… ragu. No, it’s still not coming to me.
12 comments on “Floor “saga””
When we were in your flat Kev sat down in the hall and his legs didn’t even reach all the way to the other end. That’s how you know you’ve got a REALLY long hall.
I still haven’t reached the end of it. It’s a hall and a half for sure.
Maybe Kev is shrinking and is trying to save face by not telling us.
That doesn’t bear thinking about. His legs are the international benchmark that defines the official length of One Furlong. If he’s shrinking then every racecourse in the world will need to be rebuilt.
Is that why a pair of legs runs alongside the inside of every racecourse? Now it all makes sense.
Is your door still painted that dark grey colour shown in the picture? It looks like you’re inside a prison cell. Why not paint it a jaunty pink?
I couldn’t pull off a jaunty pink, I don’t have the hips for it.
Now I’m more of a slick blue or Genevieve green kind of guy.
How about slick blue with Genevieve green polka dots? That’s a door that makes a statement. You could even paint your feature wallbox the same colour.
Only if I can paint my face onto every single polka dot. It’ll keep away drunks and strays.
That’s such a good idea that I had to call up Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen immediately to tell him. He loved it so much that he wanted to know how I got his number and told me to never call him again. THAT’S how good it is.
Wow. A phone *number*? Technology is great these days.
Yes. I heard that Linda Barker has a phone letter, because she’s cooler than most people. But that’s just a rumour.
Linda Barker needs to take a long, hard look in the mirror and realise nobody knows who she is anymore. Linda Stonehouse should do the same.