When we moved into our house about three months ago, one of the first things I did was pull up the pink carpet in our upstairs bathroom. Personally, I don't think there's a place for carpet in bathrooms at the best of times but this one was pink (the bathroom is blue!?!) and definitely harboured a peculiar smell.
My husband, who is against any unnecessary ripping out of fixtures and fittings - he knows it's often a precursor to DIY! - insisted that he couldn't detect any smell but I enlisted the support of our daughter and he soon caved in under her continual gasping and gagging each time she used the bathroom.
Anyway, the carpet went and so did the smell (told him so!) and we've ploughed on happily with bare boards ever since. Until today. Work has now started on our downstairs shower room, which needs a complete refit. A very nice chap started ripping everthing out yesterday and came back this morning to remove the plasterboard ceiling. By the time I got back from the school run he was already working and I thought I'd use the 20 minutes or so before taking the 3 year old to pre school to do a few quick chores.
I managed to make two beds, do some tidying and hang up some clothes in my daughter's room. As I returned a stray towel to the bathroom, I thought I'd make the most of being in there and have a quick wee. So, I'm sitting on the loo, shouting to the 3 year old to get his shoes and wiping the fingerprints off the side of the bath (let's hear it for multi-tasking!) when I glance down between my knees only to make eye contact with a rather bemused looking workman standing on a ladder in the showeroom below separated from me by only the aforementioned bare boards!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment