Banging and Crashing

There is a sharp knocking on the back door of Damson Cottage. It is almost lunch time and I am day-dreaming by the Aga, waiting for the hot plate to heat up some baked beans. Waiting for an Aga hot plate to heat up can be time-consuming but not if you spend that time day-dreaming. And as we all know, time spent day-dreaming is NEVER wasted. Anyway, knocking, back door...where was I? Ah yes...

Mrs Pumphrey is standing in the little courtyard at the back of Damson Cottage. She is wearing a rather stylish shift dress made from a silk blend, I think, but like me, she isn't built for shift dresses. Too hippy, don't you know, and the dress is clinging to all the wrong places. However, I am a tactful soul prone to little white lies to avoid offending a large and hippy white hen, so I compliment her on her choice of frock.

'Beautiful colour,' I say. 'Aquamarine?'

'No,' says Mrs Pumphrey, twirling as best she can in a movement restricting frock. 'Blue. But thank you. I'm testing it out for the races.'

'Ah,' I say. 'Ascot? Cheltenham, maybe? Or Newmarket?'

'Ashby-de-la-Zouche,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'The Chicken Stakes. I'm entered in the Sir Nugget Twizzler Gold Eggcup. Five furlongs. It should be okay if the going is dry. Otherwise I am going to have to find matching wellies.' She takes on a worried look at this point, and I shall leave you with the image of Mrs P racing in a too tight shift dress, because quite frankly the thought of discussing it further makes me feel quite nauseous.


'Can I help you?' I say, aware the beans are beginning to bubble.

'Can you?' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Oh yes...yes, you can. Message from Mrs Miggins. She says, and I quote, 'Go to Damson Cottage and find out what the chuff all that noise is, Gloria. I can't concentrate on the accounts because of all the banging and crashing.'

'Right,' I say. Now, I don't want to shoot the messenger, so to speak, so I hold my tongue from spurting forth the diatribe that immediately comes to mind. I am still smarting over being turfed out of Much Malarkey Manor by the Militant Hen Brigade, but if Damson Cottage is to become my campaign HQ whilst I work out how to get back to my rightful place in the Manor, then so be it. And what I do in Damson Cottage is no-one's business but mine. And Himself Lord Malarkey, of course, because in an act of marital solidarity he has decided to be exiled with me as long as he can still go
back to visit the Doctor Who Exhibition and Reading/DVD room at the Manor. The hens have sold him an annual visitor pass.

I raise myself to my full 5 feet and 6 inches. 'You can tell Mrs Miggins,' I say. 'To shove her accounts up her pinny and put on a pair of industrial earmuffs.'

There is a moment of silence. 'Right,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Maybe I'll text her.'

'She hasn't got a mobile phone!' I shout, as Mrs Pumphrey potters off, head bent over her i-phone Eggs (!). I sigh, and start scraping the beans from the bottom of the pan onto toast.

The banging and crashing has come from me and Lord Malarkey shifting furniture around upstairs which has resulted in the additional activity of having a bit of a turf out. We have three bedrooms here. Our bedroom, which has a nice big walk-in wardrobe, then the front bedroom which has a double bed and become the 'guest bedroom' and the back bedroom which was an office space before the garden studio arrived, and then it became what is commonly termed 'a dumping ground.' It is also the room where the put-you-up bed and the foam-chair-that-turns-into-a-bed are set up when the granddaughters visit. It is an okay situation, short term, but it is not what I envisioned for my granddaughters.

This is the plan, then. This made all the banging and crashing. The wood bed frame from the double bed in the front bedroom was moved to our bedroom and our mattress put on top. The divan frame from our bedroom was moved from our bedroom into the back bedroom, but before that the tat from the back bedroom had to be moved into the now empty front bedroom. The guest mattress has gone on our divan in the back bedroom which now has a double bed in it available for immediate guest use.

This leaves the front bedroom available to be turned into 'The Granddaughters' Bedroom.' I have sourced a triple bunk i.e it has a double bed on the bottom and a single on top. After VERY careful measuring, we have decided it WILL fit. Once it is in situ, we shall be able to accommodate 5 guests in proper beds! I am thinking the Mitchell brothers, Al Capone and the Kray twins to help me
over throw the M.H.B. Lord Malarkey says absolutely not. Spoilsport.

I also have space to decorate the front bedroom which is now mostly empty. And get a new carpet. Before the bunk arrives. Which will be a source of more banging, crashing and high jinx as it is a build it yourself jobbie. So by the time the girls come up for a holiday, they'll have a properly done out bedroom to stay in. I am already getting excited about colour charts and bedding and curtains and stuff.

The furniture shift has also required some rearranging and shifting of books. We have managed to wave goodbye to 73 books today which has caused Lord Malarkey more stress than it has caused me. But it is progress. It has been a good day.