Whether it was the full on family evening on Friday and Saturday, too much fine food and wine, the unrelenting fun of being surrounded by loved ones, or just a combination of them all, we may never know. Suffice to say that by eight o’clock tonight, B and I were pooped.
It’s interesting to compare our viewpoints about the ‘productivity’ of our weekends. I guess we measure them using totally different scales. My scale measures fun, doing things with the family, children, grandchildren, pets etc. B’s scale measures the number of items remaining on the refurb to-do list.
Now it’s true to say that both scales return valid measurements, but comparing them is like comparing apples and aardvarks. Suffice to say, having spent most of the afternoon and evening fixing pictures, mirrors, smoke detectors and the like in their allotted places, I was keen to call it a day.
B, on the other hand, could only see the remaining list of tasks. To her eyes, the list just got longer and longer, and each weekend smacked of failure when the number of completed jobs failed to meet expectations. It was clear that my capitulation was not universally welcome. A compromise was urgently required.
A nutty little problem, that of re-hanging a pair of cupboard doors, handily placed over the stairs, was the subject of said compromise. B had ‘threatened’ to refit them herself, but in my eyes, that was far too dangerous. We had no ladder short enough to get into the house that would, once positioned, be long enough to reach the cupboard. A conundrum wrapped in an enigma.
I won’t go into too much detail, in an attempt to protect the squeamish, but the initial stages of the re-fit were accomplished using a combination of a step ladder, a chair and a motley selection of wooden battens. The task alone was simplicity itself, but the position of the cupboard made it nigh on impossible.
However, in an admirable partnership of trust, skill, strength and, may I say, not a little daring-do, we completed the job with B sitting on my shoulders, whilst I leant out over the stairs in a push-up like pose, on tip-toe on the top step and supporting us both with my hands on a cross beam under the cupboard. We could easily have been mistaken for an act from Cirque du Soleil, except for the lack of spandex and greasepaint.
So the cupboard is again complete, the task list has reduced by one, B is safe and sound and harmony has once again descended upon The Cottage. Compromise, dialogue and acceptance of another’s viewpoint are all the ingredients required for a peaceful outcome. It’s just a shame a few more international leaders don’t try it.