Adventures with my sofa

This is a busy day for me at work so guess what, I’m finding the time to blog! Anyway, apologies for my absence, I hope I haven’t lost my loyal readership… all two of you. I’ve been busy and disinclined to write about it.
We’ve got a new sofa. But it’s been far more stressful than you can ever imagine buying (and disposing) of a sofa ever should be. My old sofa was a futon and originally as sturdy as a cart horse but three years down the line it began to list like a drunken sailor and was strategically held in place with electrical tape. It came to a head when my partner and I noticed that we were getting sore backs so we decided to get a new one. Actually, we decided to get a second hand one, convinced that unless we were prepared to spend a £1000 or more, we would get some cheap nonsense that fell apart three months down the line. So we choose a massive second hand sofa that originally was part of a suite that costs a couple of grand. It was well made and rather handsome and so we were delighted with our purchase. Especially as we both believe in recycling and reusing items. On Thursday we disassembled our old sofa (I’m sure I heard it breath a sigh of relief as I finally pensioned it off) and put the bits and pieces outside. I paid online to have it picked up by the council - £25. Daylight robbery. Anyway, Friday came, the truck pulled up and there were two sturdy men bringing our sturdy sofa to its new home. Except that it didn’t fit. There is a rather acute angle as you come through our front door which meant that the sofa in normal circumstances would have just fitted through but in this case, couldn’t manage to get in. Arrrgghhh! It had to be sent back and I now had the headache of no sofa, a sofa in bits outside and the hassle of getting another one.
On Sunday we went to the dreaded Ikea (dreaded because I always want to go there but then something strange happens to me when I get in; I become snappish and stressed and claustrophobic). We chose a sofa and had to physically lift the thing up and womanhandle this three seater beast onto an inadequate trolley and then queue for over twenty minutes. (Incidentally they didn’t have the covers for the sofa and we have to go back tonight but there’s only so much moaning you can do in one blog). After which, you queue again (15 minutes this time) for home delivery. “Has to be delivered tomorrow” said the otherwise friendly woman at the home delivery point. Otherwise apparently, you need to take it back to customer services and get a refund. Unfortunately, in this instance, customer services were now closed. So I had to take an emergency ‘my new sofa is being delivered’ day off work.
So yesterday, stuck in the house but doing a lot of valuable sorting and cleaning, our new sofa turns up at 4.50pm. I’m so delighted I wonder if it’s inappropriate to kiss the driver. It is because he appears to be 12 years old and has guessed that I’m a lesbian. I surmise this from his shy but somewhat salacious smile as he looked from me to the picture of my partner on the bookshelf. Anyhoo (this story needs to come to an end soon, surely?!) the sofa didn’t fit………………………………………………… despite being smaller than the previous one. The angle of the doorway had done for us again. However, the good news is that it fitted through the window. And even without covers it looks FABULOUS!
The bad news is the old sofa is STILL waiting to be picked up by the council. They took my credit card payment in seconds on Thursday but days later can’t tell me when they might actually bother to pick the thing up. One of the boys sent me an ill advised text on the weekend ‘when is the sofa being picked up, we were called gypsies last night because of it’. Now if you hang around with stupid, bigoted people that think it’s funny to call people Gypsies because your neighbours happen to be sorting their house out, then frankly you deserve all you get. And not once have my partner and I ever criticised them for all the stuff they dump by the bins or in the communal hallway. Nor have we ever whinged about having to sort out their recycling or having to collar the bin men and ask them sweetly to take away all their cardboard boxes and bits and pieces. So right now, I’m fuming and really don’t want to speak to them. But it will probably pass. And in the meantime, at least I can be pissed off sitting on my new sofa…