Wish me luck!

 There's always something needs doing when you move into a new house, isn't there? Something you haven't thought of.

We knew there were interventions needed in the garden and, Gott sei dank, the weather held good all through August while we tackled that, which involved jackhammers and poured concrete and dismantling and Freegling as well as hedge removal.

But we didn't think there were any issues inside the house — apart from the disentanglement of more wiring and installations than I could ever have imagined to be likely. However, we were wrong.

The sink and the counters in our kitchen are black — our tenants' choice when we installed a new kitchen for them a few years ago. 

These tenants were the best — clean and responsible and conscientious; they were brilliant.

So I think they must simply have been unaware that, for nobody knows how long, the kitchen tap was dripping badly.

So badly in fact that the cabinet into which the sink is set, and the counter top, are essentially dissolving. And what's happening with the wall behind it and the floor underneath, we do not yet know.

Ever the optimists, we did check if our house insurance would cover it. No it won't; what were we thinking? But the surveyor the insurance company sent round to check was a cheerful young man called Adam who used to be a carpenter and joiner before he got involved with the insurers. "Oh, I can do that for you," he said. Hallelujah!

So he will be on our doorstep at 8.30 sharp tomorrow morning, and thus I have spent the evening re-organising the functioning of our life. Because really, what is a home but a kitchen with armchairs and beds to the side?

I didn't do this spontaneously. I have been thinking through it and planning and mentally moving things for several days now.

Would you like to see the result?

The kitchen is all emptied and ready for Adam to start work.

Our kitchen has a little pantry, and I have put in it a small cookie station for his snacks. We'll make him cups of tea/coffee when we do our own, but he'll need something to nibble on and somewhere to put down his mug of tea, as the counters will all have been removed.

I have the new sink ready for him, propped against the wall just outside the kitchen door in the hallway.

At the other end of the hallway, opposite the front door, I put the fridge-freezer, with the thing on top that filters our drinking water from the spring.

I took the cutlery drawer out of the cabinet — all the under-counter cabinets needed emptying because the ones surrounding the sink will be ripped out and the counter tops likewise, so the inside of the cabinets will have to be washed down afterwards — and put it on our dining table in the front room, where I also set out all the crockery I thought we'd be likely to use.

On the other side of the room I put the air-fryer which cooks most of our meals, and our Jackery power station — because presumably Adam will need to turn off the electricity if he's dismantling the kitchen.

Meanwhile in the back sitting room I hung the cloths and oven gloves ready on the radiator —

— and turned my desk into a tea station, with the trash bins underneath it and the compost scraps bin perched on my shelves.

The trolley table for tea and coffee is handy to put the propane camping hob.

And then I set up a washing up station in the corner, because I should think the water will be turned off until everything's done.

Having the water off means we won't be able to flush the toilet, so I drafted in the watering cans from the garden, filled them up and set them ready in the bath.

We have no idea how long this will go on for — it all depends on the state of the walls and floor when the cabinets come out.

But now I'm tired —

— and listening to this song.