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Been a busy few weeks at mum's. We tore up the old carpet, got the new carpet down and have made a start on some new sorting and cleaning in order to decide what to chuck/sell/keep and to have a place to keep it.
The hardest job was the desk in the middle room. My dad built it for me. He knew me well, so the desk was a metre deep and stretches right across the room, with about 10 centimetres leeway either side. It's strong enough that you can stand several people on it without it threatening to collapse. It's massive and heavy.
We had to try and dismantle it in order to A. Remove the old carpet and B. allow the carpet guys enough room to put down the new stuff.
I think dad had gone a little peculiar. He had obviously been concerned that the desk may spontaneously fall apart, or that in the middle of the night some madman may come along and try to disassemble it, and so had endeavoured to prevent the merest possibility of this ever happening. When he had put it together, he had done it in a specific order, so that the last things he did effectively hid several bolts and screws from view/easy access.
The top is made of compressed cardboard planks attached to several pieces of 4x2 that support and brace them. The top is heavy and can be taken off the base, after you first uncover some of the hidden bolts by first prising off the front and back panels.
I ended up filling a large jar with screws and bolts. I tried to life the top and it wouldn't shift. Why? Because some of the screws were underneath the brackets. I removed those as well. This was hard to see given that I had a three inch gap that I had to work through to unscrew the buggers. I was used to working in the gap by then, having had to use it to undo the bolts. I also had to keep clambering over to the back of the desk, or crawling around underneath it to discover all the bolts and screws.
It took me two days to get the top off.
I know that, if my father had been alive, he would have found this incredibly amusing. He'd be laughing and red-faced and coughing at the thought of me even trying to pull the bloody thing apart. And he'd smile cheekily whenever I wandered back out to get a drink and say something like "I did a good job, didn't I?" or "Do you want a chainsaw?"
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One of the things found while cleaning was a quote I had written down. It gives a small indication of where my sense of humour comes from.
ME - Can you hear that dad, or do you want me to turn it up?
DAD - It doesn't matter to me, I know Commando off by heart. "Grunt grunt grunt, ugh, ugh, ugh, bang, bang, bang."
I miss the old bugger.
The hardest job was the desk in the middle room. My dad built it for me. He knew me well, so the desk was a metre deep and stretches right across the room, with about 10 centimetres leeway either side. It's strong enough that you can stand several people on it without it threatening to collapse. It's massive and heavy.
We had to try and dismantle it in order to A. Remove the old carpet and B. allow the carpet guys enough room to put down the new stuff.
I think dad had gone a little peculiar. He had obviously been concerned that the desk may spontaneously fall apart, or that in the middle of the night some madman may come along and try to disassemble it, and so had endeavoured to prevent the merest possibility of this ever happening. When he had put it together, he had done it in a specific order, so that the last things he did effectively hid several bolts and screws from view/easy access.
The top is made of compressed cardboard planks attached to several pieces of 4x2 that support and brace them. The top is heavy and can be taken off the base, after you first uncover some of the hidden bolts by first prising off the front and back panels.
I ended up filling a large jar with screws and bolts. I tried to life the top and it wouldn't shift. Why? Because some of the screws were underneath the brackets. I removed those as well. This was hard to see given that I had a three inch gap that I had to work through to unscrew the buggers. I was used to working in the gap by then, having had to use it to undo the bolts. I also had to keep clambering over to the back of the desk, or crawling around underneath it to discover all the bolts and screws.
It took me two days to get the top off.
I know that, if my father had been alive, he would have found this incredibly amusing. He'd be laughing and red-faced and coughing at the thought of me even trying to pull the bloody thing apart. And he'd smile cheekily whenever I wandered back out to get a drink and say something like "I did a good job, didn't I?" or "Do you want a chainsaw?"
*********************************************************************
One of the things found while cleaning was a quote I had written down. It gives a small indication of where my sense of humour comes from.
ME - Can you hear that dad, or do you want me to turn it up?
DAD - It doesn't matter to me, I know Commando off by heart. "Grunt grunt grunt, ugh, ugh, ugh, bang, bang, bang."
I miss the old bugger.
