Our first night as Sydney residents was not one of smooth integration. The only furniture we had was a sofa bed. Possessions limited to what we had managed to squeeze into our suitcases after a somewhat hurried and unique emigration from England. Any additional objects close to our hearts were stored in a shipping container being eyed suspiciously by the port authorities of Australia, convinced that everybody from foreign climbs is trying to smuggle in everything from class A drugs to King Edward potatoes.
That is not to say we were not excited! We had acquired a lovely, all be it small apartment in Vaucluse, an area universally recognized as ‘posh’, which had a newly renovated deck looking out across the Pacific Ocean. It came highly recommended by all of those in the know, referring to it as a ‘Beautiful Spot’ and we were keen to settle ourselves among the pools and Porsches. Nevertheless, once we had eaten our locally purchased coleslaw and somewhat tough, cold roast chicken with our ironically contradictory ‘non tough’ plastic cutlery, (The pack of disposable knife and fork’s war with the day-old poultry was eventually won by said utensils, but there were casualties… many, many casualties) we were ready to call it a night.
I am sure most will agree, when you have that ‘I cannot wait to hit the sack’ feeling, the last thing you want to do is first build said ‘sack’ that you so very much desire to hit…. There in lies the curse of the sofa bed. Space saving, granted, but a royal pain in the posterior to assemble. Particularly when every ounce of your being desires the state of non-conscious. After muttering negatively of the divan owning masses, we began to carry out the literal action of ‘making the bed’.
Step one – the removal of the packaging that ensures your items arrive to your abode undamaged. Layers of cardboard, plastic sheeting and polystyrene sheathed our brand spanking new furniture in such a way that I’m sure the Luftwaffe would have struggled to put a scuff on the upholstery whilst in full flow during the Blitz, let alone ‘Bazza and Chris’, the sweet hearted but heavy handed delivery guys who had lugged it up our narrow stairway.
As grateful as we were that our sizeable purchase had completed its journey from some fabled warehouse to our otherwise bare loungeroom unscathed, it came at a price. We were now left with the gargantuan challenge of releasing it from its protective bonds with nothing to assist us but the last surviving plastic knife from the ‘teatime massacre’ (lest we forget Its fallen brothers).
‘Man vs Modular Furniture’ will only have one outcome, but not before your manliness is called into question.
Lounge liberation was eventually achieved with the additional assistance of some of nature’s tools, namely teeth and fingernails. Little to report apart from a slight choking incident involving myself (Cluster of polystyrene balls got caught in my windpipe… easily done) and the tragic loss of the champion plastic knife, (Forever in our thoughts… memorial plaque to be installed above the cutlery drawer). Unexpected stress relief acquired from bubble wrap that had been used as protective layer number four.
Step two – Putting the cursed thing together. Friendly offers of guidance from my beautiful wife became unreasonably construed as stabs of criticism. Each clearly presented diagram in the instruction manual were squinted upon like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Screws were mislaid only to be discovered in a painful manner via a bare foot. Man versus modular furniture will, eventually, only have one outcome (it is an inanimate chair for crying out loud!) but it is a hollow victory when the opponent has caused you to question your resourcefulness, general practical capabilities and, in short, your ‘manliness’ due to the fact that your voice ascended several octaves as you despairingly cry, ‘The bracket will not fit in this arm rest…It just won’t… stupid bum head thing!’
Step 3 – Fitted sheet and duvet covers. The remaining yards before the finish line. The final ascent to the peak of Everest. Put one corner of a fitted sheet over the edge of the bed, the opposite corner ‘pings’ off. Re fit said corner, its opposing edge joins in on the game. What fun the sheet had popping and pinging. What a laugh. What a ‘poke yourself in the eye with a jalapeno’ good time was had by all!
As I lay in our newly constructed, leather lined tool of psychological torture, I gave myself a mental pat on the back. An additional comfort was the fact that any future assembly/disassembly of our purchase would be relatively straight forward as I now had an ally in good old fashioned, ‘what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’ experience. The worst was over.
Then it occurred to me. We are living in an all but empty apartment, desperate to be filled. Furniture outlet stores are to be visited. Online purchases are to be made. Two-hour journeys to unknown Greater Sydney destinations. The four-hour return home with a ‘barely used, one screw missing’ barbeque strapped precariously to the top of the roof rack. All this will be owed to the ‘magic’ of Gumtree!
The worst wasn’t over… Our jogtrot through the interior decorating gauntlet had only just begun!
Our Saturday afternoons will be spent accompanying the likeminded masses in polished department stores. Agonizing over which dinner set will complement the décor.
What is our décor? Deciding upon a décor!
Swatches.
Picking what will be your permanent, goes with you to the grave, cutlery set. Repeating the mantra, “A fork and knife should be for life”.
Finally, I could physically feel my pupils dilate as the full reality dawned. Soon we will be frequenting the Swedish flat pack tyranny that is…IKEA!!
I turned to my wife lying next to me and requested the only immediate source of comfort I could think of…
“Love… Can you pass me the bubble wrap”
You Know It Makes Sense 