So the adventures begin. We moved into our flat this weekend and have now been there three nights, with lots of laughs along the way. The first being the bloody extractor fan, which I am starting to get used to but still bothers me enough to mention it!
On our first night, after driving to Stanmore to pick up our new unit (one of my amazingly good value eBay wins) the girls were both out and I decided to have a go at a putting up a unit all by myself. It was fairly easy; like a jigsaw, put the little dowel rods in, bang a shelf down and carry on building as you go. All good. Ha!! Mel would soon stop ribbing me for being rubbish at anything that involved a drill or a screw driver! I thought. I got three quarters of the way through the building, and then got a little DIY cocky. Being a midget, I remember thinking that it looked a little high for me to try to bang the lid of the unit on, and wondered if I should go to find a chair or stool to stand on. I decided against it for time, wanting to have it all made by the time the ladies returned, and did a little hop to put the lid on; my piece de resistance and the last thing holding me back from do it yourself glory. I don’t need a man! I thought, I’m fully able to deal with tyres and screwdrivers in one day, aaaaallll by myself! Smug face. Bad move. I found myself squashed under the unit, and all the little dowels were broken.
By the time Mel got back to the flat I was sitting on the sofa with bleeding feet, looking forlorn and apologising profusely about wrecking the unit we had just bought. Dad came round the following morning and stuck it all back together, and it now looks good as new, although my feet look a little battered. DIY – 1, Tinkerbelle – 0.
On the second night I decided to cook a meal for the girls so we could sit down and have Sunday lunch. The oven worked fine and it was all going seamlessly until I went to put the French beans on. I put the beans in the pan, filled full of water and turned on the hob. Nothing happened. I have never used electric hobs before, always having had gas, and yet the boiling water gave me the impression it was on, yet after a while of the water not coming to boil, I gave up and we didn’t have French beans.
The next day my sister came round and informed us we didn’t have the hob turned off at the wall. Right. But after some plugging things in and changing the fuses, she concluded that it was officially ‘on the blink’ and I sent a message back to the landlord.
I got one back the following day “Hi Laura. It turns out the fuse was switched off in the cupboard. Which for your reference is just outside the front door” oooooooooh, riiiiight. Woops! Poor bloke made the trip out for three silly girls who didn’t think that there might be a fuse cupboard.
We have had slight freak outs due to the fact that we are on the ground floor, and therefore can’t leave windows open in case of burglars and murderers (all regaled to a boyshape visiting us yesterday who laughed at my justification that we couldn’t even leave the little window open as you could reach through and open the big one. I was met with “oh go on, go outside and show me. It’s not possible!!” I declined) and the fact that he also kept commenting “ooh did you just see that man walk past your window? That could be awkward when you’re getting dressed!” with a twinkle in his eye that made me whole heartedly believe that there was no man in the garden, only a bloke with an idea to scare the girls in my house!