Today was the day that disaster struck.
You heard me.
Settle down, dear readers. Gather your loved ones close and get comfy. This is a tale of HORROR. Of WOE. And of astonishing, catastrophic breakages.
I was planning to post up some photos of our new kitchen curtains today. I know how to live, eh? I decided a few weeks ago that the thin, feeble, pale, unlined curtains that graced our kitchen and dining room were too depressing and crap at insulation, and that They Had To Go. I ordered some fabric samples from Next Online and showed them to Mr Withay. He nodded at all of them, and said more or less the same thing to each one:
"That one's fine."
This, I believe, roughly translates as: "For the LOVE OF GOD stop showing me curtain fabric, woman. I don't care. Just pick one, and let me be. Jeez."
I may be mistranslating slightly, but I think that's the gist of it.
We* made our final fabric selection, I measured the windows carefully and sent in the order, and within 7 days our new curtains had arrived. All lined with lovely thick blackout insulation, and much, much warmer. Mmmmm cosy.
We still need to get some more curtain rings as we miscalculated the quantity, the new curtains being much heavier than the old ones, but they are up (mostly) and look lovely. You can't see the saggy end due to my astounding photography. I haz skillz.
Oh, and to prove I am a complete domestic goddess, I also ordered some matching cushion covers. Yeah. That's how I fucking roll, man.
So, enjoy the beauty of my (apparently) retro curtains while you may.
The disaster happened today.
I was in the kitchen as it was just getting dark, closing the curtains - aren't they lovely? - when I heard a strange noise, like chinaware clinking. I looked around dopily, then the big cupboard door slowly opened of its own accord.
Before I had time to do more than go "Whut??" a dish slid gracefully out onto the floor. It smashed.
I went "WHUT??" again, and then started screaming in horror as an entire shelf full of china, cast iron and marble slid onto the floor in a sort of avalanche of kitchenware, everything breakable smashing into a million billion pieces.
I think I screamed for about 5 minutes solid as the slow, unstoppable slide continued. The noise was incredible, and it just kept on going. Then I stood there looking at the heap of smashed stuff on my floor. Then I went a fetched a broom. Then I went to find a cardboard box. Then I fetched the dustpan.
And then I started crying.
And it was at that moment that Mr WithaY came home from work, to find his lovely wife weeping uncontrollably in the kitchen as she shovelled up the pulverized remains into a cardboard box.
Look away now if you are of a nervous disposition.
You may remember that blue plate from previous blog postings when I was bragging about my baking. No more, my friends. No more.
Look, I have codified it for ease of reference. I can't help it, I'm a Civil Servant. There's a ton of other stuff in there too but I couldn't fit all the text on the picture. Plus I got bored with the labelling thing.
Our 6 pint cast-iron Le Creuset casserole dish fell out, and amazingly didn't smash the floor tiles. There are several large unslightly chunks missing from the enamel on the dish, though, and one handle is busted. Good job it didn't land on my foot, I suppose.
So, all a bit shite really.
Turns out that the shelf was held in place by 4 little metal and rubber plug thingies, and one of them had weasled its way out, dropping the front of the shelf and causing the Avalanche Of Unnecessarily Destructive Force.
Mr WithaY is going to hammer some batten up over Christmas. That'll learn it.
I'm still in shock and will need to have medicinal brandy forced between my lips from time to time until I recover.
Otherwise, things are good. Lots of snow on the ground, and looking forward to Christmas. Yay.
*Well, he didn't object to the one I picked.