So we have been living in the flat for just over a week. And it acutally looks like a home. Even the second bedroom (previously not dissimilar to a scene from Baghdad) looks like a normal (if rather messy) bedroom.
We are still missing a lot of stuff (wardrobe, curtains, bin and bathmat for bathroom - you know the things) but perhaps the main thing we (well, I) am desperate for are shelves. I come from a family of readers (and 4 literature degrees, including my own) and accumulate approximately 4-8books a month. I literally have crates of books (21 to be exact) and at the moment they are the main culprit for the state of the second bedroom.
My father's DIY skills rival those of a meerkat. They are non-existant. And should he ever attempt anything, the mess and destruction and temper that follows really do not make it worth it.
On the other hand, the Boyfriend's father is some sort of DIY diva. He can do anything, has a shed of power tools, and the patience of a saint (this is clearly the main component lacking in my own father).
So on Sunday the Boyfriend's dad popped over with several crates of scary looking tools, and settled down to teach the Boyfriend the ins and outs of shelf building.
It took a LONG time. After half an hour, with still absolutely no prospect of getting out the big drill (they were still measuring and drawing piddly lines with a special pencil and holding a spirit level (?) - sounded like something out of cheerleader film Bring It On) I got bored and started to watch X factor on catch-up.
Another hour later, and STILL no drilling. Patience is definitely a virtue in DIY.
By about 7pm the Boyfriend's dad went home, leaving the Boyfriend alone with the power tools. By 8pm we had no shelves, a lot of holes in the wall, and just three out of a potential 12 brackets hanging precariously out of the wall. The aura of calm had disappeared.
We have done nothing since. So the visually pleasing aspect of living room is no more. Although the Boyfriend does have today off, so they might be up and finished when I get home. Or I shall return to further destruction and a boyfriend with a temperament similar to mine with PMT. Wish me luck.
Showing posts with label flat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flat. Show all posts
Monday, 8 November 2010
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Warren Evans
As mentioned in previous blog, we got our bed from Warren Evans. It is the only bespoke bed shop in the UK and there are a variety of branches across London.
Originally we went to Dreams. Do NOT, under any circumstances even set foot in any of these establishments unless you are desperate for a pee (very nice customer facilities in at least 3 of the branches we went to). On first impressions it seems fine. We even found a bed we rather liked, and was affordable. But then it came to buying it. We were told we could upgrade the slats for £40 to their "Luxury" bedbase. Good idea we thought. Until we saw this "Luxury" base.
Now, a little back story. When I first moved into my flat in Stockwell one girl had a brand new leather bed. We were all a little jealous as it was lovely, and had a memory foam mattress, and was really comfy. Yet on the first night, my housemate woke in the night with a thud. Half the slats had fallen through. So at 3am she slotted all but one back in (that one didn't seem to fit at all). And then was awoken an hour later with a similar problem. As the weeks progressed you stopped being able to sleep, sit, even place light objects on the bed without the customary "thud" following. She tried everything - gluing them in, placing things under them, but nothing made a scrap of difference. In the end the landlord provided an enormous piece of MDF to put over the bed base. It worked, but my god is it uncomfortable.
The "Luxury" base at Dreams was this exact base. You can see why we walked out.
On the tube I noticed an advert for Warren Evans, mentioned it to my Dad, who confirmed that he and my step mother got their bed there. Fearing the expense the Boyfriend and I popped into the one in Clapham Junction (looks terrible from outside but is cosy and inviting inside). We spent over an hour bouncing, napping, and spooning on the vast range of beds.
The prices are as varied as the frames. There are basic platform bases from about £150 or you can get full super kingsizes for about £1000. They also sell mattresses, again across a similar price range.
You can pick the bed frame, and also the wood you want it made in (we went for a double Cottage in Elm - it is gorgeous). We didn't need a mattress, but we did look at some of the other things we could get. Underbed storage made to fit/match your bed looked good, although at the rate we are haemorrhaging money, they can wait. You could also get bedroom furniture.
Originally we went to Dreams. Do NOT, under any circumstances even set foot in any of these establishments unless you are desperate for a pee (very nice customer facilities in at least 3 of the branches we went to). On first impressions it seems fine. We even found a bed we rather liked, and was affordable. But then it came to buying it. We were told we could upgrade the slats for £40 to their "Luxury" bedbase. Good idea we thought. Until we saw this "Luxury" base.
Now, a little back story. When I first moved into my flat in Stockwell one girl had a brand new leather bed. We were all a little jealous as it was lovely, and had a memory foam mattress, and was really comfy. Yet on the first night, my housemate woke in the night with a thud. Half the slats had fallen through. So at 3am she slotted all but one back in (that one didn't seem to fit at all). And then was awoken an hour later with a similar problem. As the weeks progressed you stopped being able to sleep, sit, even place light objects on the bed without the customary "thud" following. She tried everything - gluing them in, placing things under them, but nothing made a scrap of difference. In the end the landlord provided an enormous piece of MDF to put over the bed base. It worked, but my god is it uncomfortable.
The "Luxury" base at Dreams was this exact base. You can see why we walked out.
On the tube I noticed an advert for Warren Evans, mentioned it to my Dad, who confirmed that he and my step mother got their bed there. Fearing the expense the Boyfriend and I popped into the one in Clapham Junction (looks terrible from outside but is cosy and inviting inside). We spent over an hour bouncing, napping, and spooning on the vast range of beds.
The prices are as varied as the frames. There are basic platform bases from about £150 or you can get full super kingsizes for about £1000. They also sell mattresses, again across a similar price range.
You can pick the bed frame, and also the wood you want it made in (we went for a double Cottage in Elm - it is gorgeous). We didn't need a mattress, but we did look at some of the other things we could get. Underbed storage made to fit/match your bed looked good, although at the rate we are haemorrhaging money, they can wait. You could also get bedroom furniture.
Please note, this is not our bedroom, but it is the bed/wood we have chosen. It looks even lovelier in our room.
You order the bed and it takes a week to make, and then they will deliver it and put it up. They recommend that everytime you move house you contact them to help dissemble/reassemble the bed as apparently everytime an amateur does it, the bed ages by several years (which probably explains the state of my bed, now relegated to the second bedroom as it is so shakey and unstable the Boyfriend refused to move in with me unless it was replaced).
When delivering they were prompt, expert and polite. And the bed gives us a wonderful night's sleep, with none of the lurking potential nightmares of Dreams.
Moving 3.....
By Sunday, the flat actually resembled somewhere to live (except the second bedroom, which even now still resembles a war zone). We had an enormous sofa and footstool (courtesy of Ebay - £89. Total bargain as from Ikea more like £550) and a TV that rivals a cinema screen (first thing the Boyfriend bought - even before a bed).
The kitchen looks lovely. Our bedroom is beautiful (bed is AMAZING - Warren Evans bespoke made. Inexpensive, incredibly comfortable and the staff were truly wonderful) chest of drawers and wardrobe courtesy of my parents.
The garden is in a similar state to the second bedroom. But it's November and therefore dark early (can't see the mess) and cold (don't want to be outside).
Pictures following (once we have found the camera, and also the computer).
We rewarded ourselves with a yummy roast with good friends in our (new!) local. Roast beef with all the trimmings, some good wine, and a lunch that turned into an afternoon, turned into an evening with takeaway pizza, and suddenly it was 11pm and our friends had to leave, and we went to bed. In our amazing bed.
The kitchen looks lovely. Our bedroom is beautiful (bed is AMAZING - Warren Evans bespoke made. Inexpensive, incredibly comfortable and the staff were truly wonderful) chest of drawers and wardrobe courtesy of my parents.
The garden is in a similar state to the second bedroom. But it's November and therefore dark early (can't see the mess) and cold (don't want to be outside).
Pictures following (once we have found the camera, and also the computer).
We rewarded ourselves with a yummy roast with good friends in our (new!) local. Roast beef with all the trimmings, some good wine, and a lunch that turned into an afternoon, turned into an evening with takeaway pizza, and suddenly it was 11pm and our friends had to leave, and we went to bed. In our amazing bed.
Moving 2....
So I went into work. And obviously could not concentrate. And also had an incredibly busy day. It was not good, and by midday I could barely contain myself, and practically ran to Waterloo to get on the train to MY NEW HOME!!!
Seven minutes later and I was at Queenstown Road. 6minutes later I was outside the new flat. The Boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and for some reason there was an Estonian lady industrially cleaning the kitchen. I then realised the the whole flat was distinctly dusty, grubby, and definitely in need of a good clean.
I rang the boy, and waited outside. I then heard what sounded like an army truck, turned, and saw the Boyfriend driving something enormous. Apparently the van he hired looked a little small, so he had upgraded. To something not dissimilar to a small lorry. It turned out to be a good decision as all my stuff filled it to bursting. And he had left some bits behind.
We unloaded, but had to leave everything in the second bedroom as nothing had been cleaned. And then jumped back in the van and went to my parents. And then to the Boyfriend's to get the rest of his stuff.
By the evening we were exhausted. And hungry. And grubby. And tired. The Boyfriend was determined to bring his hideous leather armchair (think Chandler and Joey's from Friends) into the house before we went out for dinner. Sadly the damn thing was too wide to get through the gate. So we lifted it (all billion kilos of it). And then it was too wide to get through the front door. Did this put him off? No.
After nearly an hour (yes an HOUR) I suggested it might have to go back. The response was a little frosty. So on we went.
We eventually got it in by putting it in the recline position and literally dragging it through the house. It is a little dusty, has a little gloss paint on it and several small rips, but the monstrosity is now happily planted in the second bedroom. Oh joy.
Seven minutes later and I was at Queenstown Road. 6minutes later I was outside the new flat. The Boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and for some reason there was an Estonian lady industrially cleaning the kitchen. I then realised the the whole flat was distinctly dusty, grubby, and definitely in need of a good clean.
I rang the boy, and waited outside. I then heard what sounded like an army truck, turned, and saw the Boyfriend driving something enormous. Apparently the van he hired looked a little small, so he had upgraded. To something not dissimilar to a small lorry. It turned out to be a good decision as all my stuff filled it to bursting. And he had left some bits behind.
We unloaded, but had to leave everything in the second bedroom as nothing had been cleaned. And then jumped back in the van and went to my parents. And then to the Boyfriend's to get the rest of his stuff.
By the evening we were exhausted. And hungry. And grubby. And tired. The Boyfriend was determined to bring his hideous leather armchair (think Chandler and Joey's from Friends) into the house before we went out for dinner. Sadly the damn thing was too wide to get through the gate. So we lifted it (all billion kilos of it). And then it was too wide to get through the front door. Did this put him off? No.
After nearly an hour (yes an HOUR) I suggested it might have to go back. The response was a little frosty. So on we went.
We eventually got it in by putting it in the recline position and literally dragging it through the house. It is a little dusty, has a little gloss paint on it and several small rips, but the monstrosity is now happily planted in the second bedroom. Oh joy.
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
I have to live with a boy.....
I've been bad again. Although it is not an excuse, but the last couple of months have been a bit hectic. Work, holidays, work, house hunting, work, work, a bit more work, and house furnishing.
So to give you all a quick update... Househunting got progressively worse. I had seen EVERYTHING on the market, and it was all rubbish (too expensive, tiny, not what we wanted, ex council - just to give you a flavour, we were looking for a two bed flat with a garden. I was shown a 1 bedroom with a "study". Said study was a conservatory with a table in it. When I asked where the chair was I was told that there wasn't space. And they wanted £1350 pm. What a joke).
So the boyfriend and I abandoned the search, booked a wonderful holiday (5* Rhodes Spa Hotel - I read 5 amazing books, got a fantastic tan, and ate/drank/slept far too much). On our return I reluctantly went to look at ANOTHER flat, totally disinterested and prepared to hate it on sight.
Oh, how wrong I was. I LOVED it . It is in a lovely place (off Queenstown Road) it has 2 proper double bedrooms, a garden, living room, kitchen, bathroom and as none of my homes have ever been complete without at least one idiosyncracy there is one problem (only access to garden is through the bathroom) but it is not so bad that it becomes a dealbreaker (the toilet is in a separate room - and as I pointed out to the Boyfriend, how often do you decide to shower when having friends round for a barbeque?).
So we move next week. It is unfurnished and so we have embarked on a beg, borrow, steal mission from both our long suffering families (and have been rather successful - chest of drawers, wardrobe, mattress - although my stepmother keeps trying to fob us off with frankly, rather useless/unimportant things - a gravy boat, and large box of, mainly broken, Christmas decorations to name but two).
The other fascinating thing was how much the Boyfriend and I differed on flat necessities. Without delay, the Boyfriend immediately bought a 42" plasma for over £500. I went to Lom Bok, got a lovely mirror in the sale, got a hand knitted throw, and some lovely prints to frame. Neither of us felt the immediate need of getting a bed, sofa, pans, shelves. But at least we will be warm in our throw, sat on the floor watching an enormous TV.
The main thing we are now currently lacking is a sofa (and gosh, aren't they expensive!). Even Ikea are asking upwards of £400 for one! Don't even get me started on DFS - hundreds for a hideous, overstuffed monstrosity, that is not only an eyesore, but less comfortable than a park bench.
The Boyfriend suggested getting one from Tesco. He sold it to me wonderfully, telling me "they look a bit weird, and the reviews say they are all really uncomfortable, but they are only £200". Great.
So we are resorting to Ebay. Fingers crossed. I promise I shan't leave it so long to give you the update.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Home sweet home
So the Boyfriend and I are looking for a flat. I have a horrible sense that it is going to be a painful process.
We want somewhere with an outside, and two bedrooms, in an area we like (Battersea, Clapham, Brixton, Stockwell) and within our budget.
The Boyfriend had some other stipulations, but they have been disregarded as silly - a big kitchen (the last time he cooked was 3years ago and he caused a minor fire) and a bathroom with windows. Yes I know, of all the things to disregard an otherwise perfect house, I do not want to have to aplogetically decline over a lack of window.....)
So far I have had a lot of help from some very attentive estate agents. The only problem is that they all seem to have an IQ rivalled by a peanut.
Over the past 3 days I have received over 15phonecalls and emails.
They all start along the same line:
"We have found you a perfect property"
Great.
Then the problems start. I have been offered places in Streatham (no), Kent (no) and Acton (no) among others. I have been offered studios, 1 bedroom places, and places with not even a sniff of outside space. I have also been offered beautiful flats, in brilliant locations, that are 6 times our budget. Fantastic.
At first my responses were pleasant - it's easy to get confused, maybe they mixed us up with someone else, everything's right except the location and the price, etc. But after correcting the same man from the same estate agent for the third time I have come to realise that all estate agents are either
a. Lonely, and desperate for ANY contact, even from an angry blonde.
b. Stupid.
c. Related in someway to the goldfish, and therefore unable to retain information for more than 3 seconds.
I shall keep you informed of any developments.
We want somewhere with an outside, and two bedrooms, in an area we like (Battersea, Clapham, Brixton, Stockwell) and within our budget.
The Boyfriend had some other stipulations, but they have been disregarded as silly - a big kitchen (the last time he cooked was 3years ago and he caused a minor fire) and a bathroom with windows. Yes I know, of all the things to disregard an otherwise perfect house, I do not want to have to aplogetically decline over a lack of window.....)
So far I have had a lot of help from some very attentive estate agents. The only problem is that they all seem to have an IQ rivalled by a peanut.
Over the past 3 days I have received over 15phonecalls and emails.
They all start along the same line:
"We have found you a perfect property"
Great.
Then the problems start. I have been offered places in Streatham (no), Kent (no) and Acton (no) among others. I have been offered studios, 1 bedroom places, and places with not even a sniff of outside space. I have also been offered beautiful flats, in brilliant locations, that are 6 times our budget. Fantastic.
At first my responses were pleasant - it's easy to get confused, maybe they mixed us up with someone else, everything's right except the location and the price, etc. But after correcting the same man from the same estate agent for the third time I have come to realise that all estate agents are either
a. Lonely, and desperate for ANY contact, even from an angry blonde.
b. Stupid.
c. Related in someway to the goldfish, and therefore unable to retain information for more than 3 seconds.
I shall keep you informed of any developments.
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