The Elves and The Staircase

It’s the World Cup. To add insult to injury, Big Brother is back on.

Deep joy.

I’d rather watch paint dry.

In fact, I’ll put my money where my mouth is and tell you that’s exactly what I did last night.

When we moved here, the only means of getting upstairs was via a spiral staircase. “Lovely - how quaint!” I hear you exclaim. Yeah, that’s what we thought, until we had to use it on a daily basis. What an absolute pain in the backside was the reality.

It was a very small, tight staircase – fine(ish) if we didn’t need to get anything upstairs apart from ourselves. But trying to carry anything bigger than a laptop while going up or down them became a logistical exercise.

Also fine(ish) if we weren’t in a hurry to get up or down – the treads were so small, each foot had to be carefully placed sideways on them.

I used to balance the washing basket on my head to get it up there, but that meant I couldn’t watch where I was placing my feet. I should have worn knee pads, I tripped and banged them so often. I could have probably gone the whole hog and been fully kitted out with elbow pads and helmet too at times.

Imagine having to answer the front door to the postman wearing that lot, being asked if you’re going rollerblading and telling him no, you’re just about to go upstairs. That’d get his mind boggling.

I perfected the art of getting the vacuum cleaner upstairs by having to semi-dismantle it, and then reassembling it once up there. Youngest Daughter claimed she didn’t know how to take it apart, therefore couldn’t vacuum her room. Pfft, I wasn’t born yesterday, she just couldn’t be arsed. Don’t blame her really.

Even the cats used the stairs with caution. Grumpy had to wear one of those big white collar thingy’s from the vets a while back. Felt sorry for her, but it was bloody funny at the same time, watching her trying to negotiate the stairs.

Pieces of furniture had to be of the flat-pack variety (gotta love Ikea), carried up one piece at a time.

I bought a large chest of drawers from Bargain Corner once in Ikea, got it in my car complete, got it home and apart from the drawers, had to take it to bits to get it upstairs. Getting those drawers up there became a two person job involving bubble wrap, rope, sellotape, an old curtain, plus a considerable amount of acrobatics and derring-do. And swearing.

What a pain.

Last winter I got Nob the Builder in (so nicknamed because although he’s great at his job, he’s a dickhead), and got him to build me proper stairs.

After they were installed, Youngest Daughter and I gleefully and wantonly took turns running up and down them, because we could. And we could carry stuff - big stuff - at the same time without having to spend ages working out how to do it beforehand. Oh the joy!

However, I’ve since been waiting for the elves to come and paint them à la The Elves and the Shoemaker. I hoped I’d wake up one morning and ta-da! one painted staircase. The only thing is, I’d be rubbish at making tiny clothes to thank them, so they’d have to stay naked.

Then it dawned on me.

Duh.

I am that elf.

(Stop it – not the naked bit.)

I started doing the prep work – sanding, filling, more sanding - until finally I was ready to prime and undercoat with paint. Then I came to the realisation exactly how much wood was involved.

I got bored.

I found other things to do.

Went back to waiting for the naked elves to finish them off.

Dawned on me again, still not going to happen.

Bugger.

So.

Last night, my TV was silent.

Football's coming home? Not in my house it's not. Nuh-uh, no way José.

No "Eng-ger-laand" chants. No "go on my son!" type encouragement. No cries of "offside!" (I don't give a monkey's chuff about the offside rule). No "ref, are you effing blind?" protests. No "show 'im the card" judgements.

Nada, zip, zero, zilch.

I put a CD on the stereo and got busy with my paintbrush, belting out (sorry, I do believe I meant to type singing) Come Fly With Me, Cry Me A River et al, along with Michael Bublé (swoon). Had to be done.

There’s four weeks of World Cup and I believe three months of Big Brother to get through.

Maybe I’ll paint one spindle a night.

Naked.