There are many benefits to living alone: sole possession of the remote control, unlimited access to both the kitchen and the bathroom, no one waiting for you to tidy up the wool lying everywhere. Of course there are also a few circumstances when it's a disadvantage: when the zip on the back of your dress gets stuck, when you're at the top of a step ladder and it occurs to you that if you fall off and break your neck no-one's going to know, and when you're trying to pick up something from Argos.
It's the latter that proved a particular drawback today but hey, I can change a fuse, re-wire a plug and unblock a drain, so I was undeterred. As part of a New Year tidy-up, I wanted to get some new storage units - how hard could that be? Now I do not own a car and I'm not about to win a triathalon anytime soon, so once I had taken possession of three heavy flat-pack boxes (after waiting for about four days at Collection Point B) I was slightly at a loss as to how to get them home. A taxi was clearly in order, but I could only lift one of the boxes at a time. Fortunately a woman at Argos helpfully lent me a trolley, so I wheeled them out to the curb, hailed a cab, whomped them in and then pelted back to return the trolley. After a quick ride home, there was then a staggered relay to get them upstairs (thank god I only live on the first floor) and I was all set:
We all know the trauma of self-assembly furniture. The nightmare instructions telling you to fix shelf A to support bracket B using dowel F, whilst showing an illustration of something completely different. The impossible task of holding the whole thing together and using a screwdriver a the same time. The inevitability of being left at the end with some fixture in a plastic envelope, the use for which utterly eludes you. This set was no exception. Long Dowel bloody F - which appeared to be constructed from papier mache - decided to snap in half just as I was coaxing it into the shelf. Argos decided that the best time to screw a magnetic catch to the inner top corner of a cupboard is after you've built it, for optimum screwdriver manoeuverability. And I'm fairly certain I've lost a decidedly pointy nail somewhere in the deep pile of my rug. So I shouted, I cursed, I dropped several heavy pieces of chip board on my foot, but after two hours - success. It may be a pain in the arse, but it's also pretty satisfying. At last I can go from my usual method of yarn storage:
I love having all my yarn out, rather than shoved in a plastic bag somewhere and my stash isn't quite as shameful as I had feared. Especially since most of what you can see is in use or earmarked for something already. Now I just have to find a way to deal with all the circular knitting needles.