Chapter Five – The Awakening
Mr D at first argues the toss with me. I did, after all, he points out, sign an agreement to the plan. I call the ability of his designer into question, although not, restrainedly, his parentage, much as I am tempted, and point out, nicely, mind, but firmly nonetheless, that whilst he and his designer are able to look at a one dimensional plan of a kitchen and see it instantly in 3-D and, in all probability, glorious Technicolor, I, sadly, cannot. He does accept this point but continues to argue, especially about the three tiny cupboards. What do you mean, tiny? I mean TINY! Then he looks at the plan again and lightning strikes. “Oh, it says bridging units, I see what you mean, but, then again, you wouldn’t realise what a bridging unit was would you?” Playing the dumb not-quite-blonde role quite well all of a sudden I concur and he explains and promises, as compensation for the delay and upset, understand, not as any recompense for the design which I did, after all, sign to accept, that they will, at their expense, come and fit a new double and single unit instead of the bridging units and will push the remaining bridging unit across to meet the front wall and fill the gap.
Finished – looking front
Finished – looking rear
Our kitchen is not particularly large and space is limited, something I inform him that a competent designer should have addressed. At no time during Mr Flood’s visit I say, was I offered any additional space saving storage devices such as under cupboard hangers or hooks, an under oven housing drawer, or any of the accessories readily available, I now discover, with, for example, a considerably cheaper B & Q kitchen, or which, I also find, are detailed on Anglian Home Improvements' website as being available. These accessories were never even mentioned by Mr Flood and, I tell Mr D, I was, therefore, unaware that they were an option.
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So far as the lack of a corner unit by the door is concerned, he tells me, this is due to their concern in not wishing me to “bang my head” as I stand up from the tumble dryer. I retort that (a) in the 12 years of using the washing machine in that position I have never once banged my head on the existing unit that was there and (b) I was never offered a choice of having it or not, it was, quite simply, “done away with” without any consultation. To no avail, he quietly glosses over this point when agreeing to the new units. OK, when? Well, it will probably be in a few weeks. Sighing I accept this and hang up. Goodness only knows the size of my forthcoming mobile telephone bill; I am half inclined to knock it off the final cheque.
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Amongst the items I have not, yet, thrown at them (no, not literally but believe me, I am rapidly reaching the stage where I would quite happily throw anything I have to hand at them) is the fact that Mr Flood conveniently forgot to mention just how small, in comparison to our old oven, the new one would be. Our large roasting tin does not fit and we will have trouble fitting our Christmas turkey in – possibly excellent news for the turkey but not, regrettably, for us or for our expected dinner guests! Whilst I would also have liked to have had the option of an under oven housing drawer, (as seen in the B & Q catalogue) we have only a covered area, or what was a covered area until the double sided sticky tape gave up the ghost. It will take us quite a while to get over that one. An Internet chat friend who has been receiving a blow-by-blow account via MSN messaging was the cyber space equivalent of speechless when reading that news. In addition there is still no sign of anyone calling to make good damaged plaster following the removal of old tiles as agreed in the spec, and two double electrical sockets have been left loose following removal of the tiles, a serious safety concern surely?
The loose sockets
Forgive me for I digress. Miracles DO happen, I now have proof of that. The very next morning, Friday 31st October (Halloween no less, any significance there do you think?) I receive a telephone call from Mr S at Haydock. They have my units, can they come and fit them? TODAY! Hardly daring to believe it I ask leave to make a quick telephone call and, in true E.T. style, I phone home. Pat, bless her, postpones a hairdresser’s appointment and agrees. I call Mr S back and he says the fitter, not Darren this time but a different chap who actually lives in my area (well, Colne is not quite Bamber Bridge, but then what is a little matter of 25 miles down the M65?), will be there in 30 minutes.
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Now that they seem to be, finally, on the last leg, there is just the little matter of payment. I am extremely unwilling to part with the final payment until I have seen for myself that the kitchen is “A OK”. In any case, I tell Mr S, I will not be home until gone 6, I could not have left the cheque as, unlike Pat, I do not have the gift of second sight (although maybe she could have told me, seeing as how she is gifted in that way). And, having endured the last week and a half, I really would like to live with the kitchen for a week before paying so I can make sure nothing else is wrong. He insists they need payment by Monday but accepts that I do not want to stump up until I have seen it so he suggests that I phone him Saturday. I agree and say I will then post the cheque. With near panic in his voice he says, no, we will send someone for it early Monday. Well, if they are that desperate… So I agree.
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Almost true to his word the new fitter, J, arrives in 40 minutes and sets to, working for 20 minutes then disappearing for 10, working for 20 minutes, then disappearing for 10….. Pat assumes he has to keep nipping to B & Q for materials but possibly the 30-minute break at 1.00 is for lunch. Not quite in the same league as Darren, J is an older man, one might actually say, a grumpy old man. He does the job but moans to Pat at every opportunity, queries the positioning of the double unit we want moving, looks at the brick siliconed into the former tumble dryer vent hole and tells Pat it is OK – she can’t expect everything to be perfect!!! - and says, despite all that Mr S has told me, that the plastering and making good is not necessary as we are tiling the wall and, in any case, it is not his job. When Pat insists, firmly but politely, oh, ever so politely, that we were told he WOULD do it he throws some sand and cement plaster into one of the holes, leaving it with a surface Etna would be proud of, and leaves. Still, we are nearly there. Or are we?????
