Taps with crosses, roll top bath, two basins - I can make some decisions.
The builders were coming for a preliminary meeting to discuss the schedule of works and fix a start date but in my excitement I absentmindedly used the emergency, ‘only to impress,’ chocolate biscuits. I know chocolate biscuits are far to extravagant for builders, but hey, after dreaming about our renovation works for so long I threw caution to the wind and wanted to live a little.
We had plans and I was more excited when they plopped through the letterbox and onto the mat than when I went to see the film, Dr Doolittle with Rex Harrison as a birthday treat when I was nine. Not that I had been counting the five months, one week and three days it had taken since first contacting our architect, but the electronic airways had been red hot between Sussex and his offices on the Isle of Man, revising our wishes against what was achievable.
We were proceeding with the en- suite bathroom as it was one of the only areas that didn't need our plans to be approved or the walls chased for rewiring. Goodbye to the avocado suite and louvered cupboard doors. No more cascading waterfalls down the lounge wall when my son forgot to put the plastic shower curtain inside the shower tray. Although my geography had improved no end when performing my ablutions every morning from studying the world map printed on it.
Which bath to choose and did I want the taps in the corner or centre, with or without a hose attachment? I'd always fancied a cast iron, roll top bath. Did I want taps shaped like crosses, levers or with a mixer? A heated towel rail was a must, there’s nothing like a limp wet towel to put a girl in a bad mood in the mornings. But taking into consideration our space restrictions, it would have to incorporate a radiator. And what shape toilet would best suit all our bottoms? Should I be kind to the males in the household and chose one with a lid that closed slowly and gently on its own or stick with the traditional kind and to hell with the consequences? Did we want one basin or two, and shaped in a square or a bowl? Considering that at peak times the bathroom became more congested than Clapham Junction as five of us tried to prepare ourselves to face the world, maybe a large trough would have been best. And what about the floor? Tiles can sometimes feel cold, wooden flooring looks good but can have practical issues and luxury vinyl can be expensive. But, silly me, any hope of having the en- suite to myself would quickly diminish when the rest of the family discovered the marvellous, magnifying mirror that almost allowed you to see into the dermis layer of your skin - definitely an item to be sold with a warning – only to be approached if over fifty on confident days.
My mind was agog with decisions that had to be made. My bedtime reading assured for the next few weeks with the mountain of brochures I'd collected. I reached for the tea pot and concluded the only safe decision I could make immediately was to stock up on some Rich Tea.
Teresa x
We had plans and I was more excited when they plopped through the letterbox and onto the mat than when I went to see the film, Dr Doolittle with Rex Harrison as a birthday treat when I was nine. Not that I had been counting the five months, one week and three days it had taken since first contacting our architect, but the electronic airways had been red hot between Sussex and his offices on the Isle of Man, revising our wishes against what was achievable.
We were proceeding with the en- suite bathroom as it was one of the only areas that didn't need our plans to be approved or the walls chased for rewiring. Goodbye to the avocado suite and louvered cupboard doors. No more cascading waterfalls down the lounge wall when my son forgot to put the plastic shower curtain inside the shower tray. Although my geography had improved no end when performing my ablutions every morning from studying the world map printed on it.
Which bath to choose and did I want the taps in the corner or centre, with or without a hose attachment? I'd always fancied a cast iron, roll top bath. Did I want taps shaped like crosses, levers or with a mixer? A heated towel rail was a must, there’s nothing like a limp wet towel to put a girl in a bad mood in the mornings. But taking into consideration our space restrictions, it would have to incorporate a radiator. And what shape toilet would best suit all our bottoms? Should I be kind to the males in the household and chose one with a lid that closed slowly and gently on its own or stick with the traditional kind and to hell with the consequences? Did we want one basin or two, and shaped in a square or a bowl? Considering that at peak times the bathroom became more congested than Clapham Junction as five of us tried to prepare ourselves to face the world, maybe a large trough would have been best. And what about the floor? Tiles can sometimes feel cold, wooden flooring looks good but can have practical issues and luxury vinyl can be expensive. But, silly me, any hope of having the en- suite to myself would quickly diminish when the rest of the family discovered the marvellous, magnifying mirror that almost allowed you to see into the dermis layer of your skin - definitely an item to be sold with a warning – only to be approached if over fifty on confident days.
My mind was agog with decisions that had to be made. My bedtime reading assured for the next few weeks with the mountain of brochures I'd collected. I reached for the tea pot and concluded the only safe decision I could make immediately was to stock up on some Rich Tea.
Teresa x
