My house is being ripped apart by Flemish men with sledgehammers and powertools. We’re renovating the whole ground floor; principally the kitchen, which is being pretty much rebuilt from scratch, but also doing the floors and ceilings and a few bits and bobs in the dining and living rooms.
I hate having work done in the house. Sure, if I think logically about it I can see the eventual benefits, but in the short term all I can see is the hassle and stress and mess and sheer inconvenience of it all. I don’t know where my stuff is. We had to move everything, including the sofa, piano, dining room furniture and bookcases upstairs, and everything else which used to sit on those shelves or in those kitchen units is now either in our study, our loft, our basement or has been brought with us in boxes to our new temporary accommodation in a friend’s flat.
When we moved into our house it was the first time in a while that all my stuff had been together under one roof, combining stuff we already had in Brussels, stuff we’d left in my wife’s flat in Genoa and stuff I’d left at my parents’ in Exeter. And now it’s been scattered around again as if by a small, very localised and orderly hurricane. Yes, it’s good to simplify and get rid of stuff, and hopefully even more stuff will be “recycled” during the move back, but there’s a lot of stuff that we need (not to mention the kids’ stuff), and being unable to immediately and accurately locate it is disconcerting and frustrating.
December (work is guaranteed to be finished by then, otherwise they pay a fine) can’t come soon enough.
This post is an attempt to enter the Guinness Book of Records for “Most uses of the word ‘stuff’ in a blogpost”.