‘Oh no, we forgot to get the biscuits’


Did everyone enjoy the Star Wars stuff?

The most original for me was the following Tweet:

“Why is it that all Star Wars fans have lisps?”

Moving swiftly on – whilst all that jollity was occurring, the kitchen was finally plastered and the beautiful boy with no teeth made an attempt to clear up the mess using much water.

Not a success, but he tried bless him.

Dusty windows,  dusty, dirty doors and a thin layer of plaster dust on everything and everyone – even upstairs.

Wheeze, wheeze, puff, puff.

The electrician came back in to move the meter and finish off the spotlight holes – and turn off the electricity for over an hour – much to Gap Boy’s chagrin.

The chief builder (who calls me ‘Boss’ so I must be a bit important) came in on Sunday morning and delivered loads of flat pack cardboard boxes – astonishingly assisted by a usually uncooperative GB.  He also put the radiator back on in the kitchen so we aren’t quite as chilly as we were.

It was the plastering’s benefit though – not ours.

I mastered the art of washing up in the bathroom – thanks to Lovely Friend who advised me to see this kitchen replacement as a kind of indoors camping trip.

Minimal crockery and cutlery, and dump the dirty stuff into a washing up bowl to wash in the toilets when you can’t possibly eat anything else off it.

Hub and I decided that putting sherry trifle on the plate that you’ve just eaten steak and salad from was maybe roughing it a bit too much.

Hub does not like washing up bowls so we had to purchase one specially.

Carting the dirty crocks around in the washing up bowl was rather like being back at work  – although the five steps to my bathroom sink are far more acceptable than the route march I used to have to make up and down the stairs from our bijou office to the communal office sink.

At least I was allowed to wash up at my last two jobs.  Prior to that I worked in a team where people fell over themselves to make hot drinks and wash up – as a more palatable alternative to talking to the public and doing some work – I preferred the latter.

Our diet since the Krappy Kitchen disappeared has been – alternative.

GB has been on protein only so that he could slim down and wear the American football costume for his friend’s party.  After falling off the protein wagon spectacularly by whizzing up to BK and filling his rucksack with burgers, he now seems to be existing on packets of cooked crispy bacon (not from Sainsburys as it is far too flaccid).

Hub continues to eat healthily and has barely deviated from his normal routine – smartypants.

I grew tired of cold chicken – yes really – one can you know!

The weather wasn’t good enough for the disposable barbecues and you can’t live on double cheeseburgers – or KFC  or kebabs  or Chinese or Indian or fish and chips – for very long 🙂

After rummaging in a nearby open box – I found it  – the answer to my dreams of  freshly cooked flesch!

The old GF Grill came up trumps.

So far we have cooked steak, bacon and sausages on it.  Cleaning it is slightly problematic and entails the (now) much used washing up bowl and at least one kitchen roll.

It was very nice to see Builder Boss anyway and even more wonderful to see my kitchen bits arriving.

He then advised that the lads were going out on the lash on Sunday night but quite fancied coming in after lunch on the Bank Holiday Monday to put the units together.

I made a note to myself to pick up some more biscuits for them.

We went shopping and I left the note at home.

KRAFT moment.

The builder boys (two of them) turned up after lunch as arranged and I was back on tea-making duties (bleurgh) – they aren’t as self-sufficient as the plasterer who brings his domestic effects with him. They looked a little delicate – it was a good night apparently.

No biscuits 😦

Luckily Hub and GB decided to take the Scoob for walkies and obtain biscuits and bin liners en route.

You can’t take Scoob to the shops on your own.  I doubt if he would  get stolen but his aggressive wuffing might damage his reputation as our loveable soppy dog.

And – we are back in the present.  The lads are cracking on and I saw my Belfast sink this morning.  Haven’t had the opportunity to stroke it yet though.

The worktop is being sorted today, tiles and paint ordered and a painter and tiler lined up.

We may have our new kitchen by the weekend – fingers crossed.

The washing pile is beginning to look rather scary but that is probably the worst thing about having the kitchen replaced.  GB wasn’t particularly impressed by my attempts at hand washing his underarmour.

“Why is it still wet?”

“Because I can’t get as much water out of it as the spin cycle can.”

“Hmmm. Are you sure you tried?”

Reader – the air turned blue and GB was left in no doubt as to who will be doing his hand washing in the future.

His solution to most kitchen-related issues has been to retreat to his man cave with R Whites lemonade and the aforementioned crispy bacon.

Hub has  been at work through most of the trauma but has done his best to pat and sooth me and the Scoob when he comes home.

Scoob has probably been the most traumatised of us all really but his ranting wuffs are now limited to the first half an hour of the day. He is sleeping peacefully by my feet right now, and earlier on, was quite content to watch the chaps through the garden gate  – provided that he knew where Hub and I were.

Dare I say, he has even become attached to a couple of them – not my poor toothless boy however, who has learned to give Scoob a wide berth and not put his hoodie up when working outside.

I was particularly touched this morning when one of the chaps invited me into the kitchen and explained that if they put the cupboards at the level of the tower which will contain the oven and microwave, I – being a mere 5’5″ – might have difficulties accessing them.

I have a little red stool because I can’t reach the windows.  I had assumed that I would need it for the cupboards too.

Not so, they did a quick reccy about my height and have micro-adjusted accordingly.

So glad that we went out for the biscuits.

‘Christmas is only eight months away’

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The work top is an essential part of any kitchen.

My new kitchen work top is black with sexy coloured glittery bits in it. I can have Christmas all year round in my new kitchen especially when the pretty blue lights under the units and near the floor are on.

I have had two phone calls and three letters reminding me that my new kitchen is being delivered next week, to blow up the blue balloon and tie to my gate (the party will be later) and make sure there is a space 2m x 3m to store the stuff in until my builder is ready for it.

We are SO ready for the new kitchen.

We know that we will be eating takeaway off paper plates for a couple of weeks and that personal hygiene and clean clothes may fall by the wayside when the water is off.

We have broken the news to Gap Boy that he may find himself separated from the PC when the power is off – Minecraft battles may have to wait.

Uni Boy and Bezzie Mate are staying away until the new kitchen has been installed.

Scoobs may spend the next couple of weeks wuffing and whining at the strange men who will be demolishing part of the house and rebuilding it again (I hope).

This afternoon I got a call from a six year old (well maybe ten – okay then a sixteen year old ) work experience girl who had issues with her fs and ths.
There ‘as bin a nerror at Haitch Q apparently. My kitchen has been ordered – bu’ sum1 forgot tuh order yer worktop. Sumfing muzt ‘ave gonn wrong sumwheh – dunno wot ‘ appened, or oo didit but it woz sum1 ‘ere – not sum1 at the shop.
Enough of the junior jargon – they are going to supply us with a temporary work top until my sexy work top arrives, then my builder will be coming back to take out the temporary one and fit the new one.

At no cost to us.

Well, that’s a relief then!

Today we have been mostly clearing out the Krappy Kitchen.

Hub and I are dirty and dusty, and now I am disheartened too.

GB has thudded down from his bedroom every now and then to bark at the dog (who is wuffing a lot because he feels insecure), snarl at me and Hub and tell us what a lousy job we are doing.

Go on then GB – set us a good example to follow – thought not.

His one contribution to Operation Chuck It Out so far has been to take his clothes mountain out of the bathroom and dump it on his bed so that we could swap over some bookcases and books (our upstairs bathroom is a very dusty but literary place).

I really should not have chosen basic black to wear when sorting  out dusty but much-loved books.

On the plus side, I have found many favourites that I thought I’d lost – and have now purchased and installed on one of my Kindles – I can’t throw books away though and the charidee box looks rather sparse.

I was given a medicinal sherry to cheer me up after the phone call – I had to hand the charmless teen over to Hub before I said something extremely rude to her.

Spit that gum out!  Spit it out NOW!

It wasn’t so much the news that she was imparting; it was the lethargic ‘so what’ manner with which she delivered it.

I could almost see her examining her cuticles with disinterest as she dropped the bombshell on me.  I wonder if they drew lots in the office as to which of them should break the news of their incompetence to Mrs Angry?

Who the hell orders a kitchen and forgets to order the work top?


Easter is over but I am still one Hot, Cross Bunny.

Fingers crossed that I have my kitchen for Christmas – only eight months to go.