Hand-wringing
Life isn’t all beer, skittles, and OBEs.* Sometimes it’s the Agony of Choosing Floor Coverings. This is about to be the blog equivalent of looking at somebody’s holiday snaps or Granny’s ‘souvenir from’ thimbles. Ohhhhhh nooooooooooo. . . . But the nice thing about a blog is that you can click away at any moment, go catch up on your Jeff Dunham**, make a shortcake to go with all those strawberries***, shampoo your eyelashes, dye the cat. I am not going to feel guilty. This is my blog.
So the Floor Covering Man came to measure up at Third House this morning: one attic, one attic loo, one frelling world-altering staircase†, one short hallway, one ex-room which is now a staircase with a little frill of storage space . . . and one full bath, which was not due to have anything at all done to it until the boiler exploded and the toilet dissolved. And I dutifully went round to the Floor Covering Shop to choose my poison(s).
AAAAAAAAUGH.
I walk into a place like this and my brain melts. No, no, no, no, no! What happened to packed earth?†† There’s a fine long tradition of packed earth flooring. It has stood hundreds of generations, and their sheep, pigs, chickens, cattle, and hellhounds in good stead. Why did we have to go and invent carpets? Not to mention vinyl.†††
Well let’s do the attic loo first, because that turned out to be easy. Here is the attic loo. 
And the famous Seven Tiles Waiting for an Eighth.
And a closeup.
I am really pleased with these tiles, so if this is a Defining Character Moment, or possibly a defining I’m Beginning to Get It Why She Likes All Stars moment, that’s fine. ‡ This is a ‘real me’ moment, of which there are fewer on the blog than perhaps some of you realise. This is my house, and I like these tiles.
I staggered up the superfluous stairs‡‡ with an armful of door sized books of vinyl 
samples. So, shall it be this?
Or this?
Or this?
And the fact is you haven’t got a prayer of recognising Subtle Gradations of Colour and Texture on a computer screen so I’m just going to tell you that the winner is: 
Which is also the first of the above series of Granny’s thimbles.
But the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goon‡‡‡ problem is the downstairs bath. Me and my fancy frelling tiles and my fancy French blue walls.
Which I am going to save for ANOTHER evening.
* * *
* Trust me, I’ll keep you posted. Waste such a golden, gem-studded blog opportunity? Are you kidding? But I’m starting to worry a little. One of Peter’s posh neighbours says Peter will have to wear tails and a top hot. Which leaves me . . .
** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LDg2yA9AZ8 I admit I don’t get it myself. Okay, tastelessly funny concept, fine, full points . . . and? What? But I am zeitgeist challenged. This is not news. I was reminded of this fact somewhat emphatically when my copy of SFX’s Special Vampire Issue arrived a couple of days ago. Who Are All These Unnaturally Glossy People And Why Are We Supposed to Care? Anybody out there want a set of BUFFY coasters? BUFFY coasters? The double-page spread of SUNSHINE looks really nice though.
*** Roses, of course are the true, first purpose of summer. But there are a number of honourable runners-up. Strawberries are one of them. Next year I hope to grow some at Third House. Um, do the new tiles in the kitchen go with red food?^
^ I don’t know and I don’t care. The new kitchen wall tiles are one of the clear successes about the whole ghastly remodel shtick.
† Anyone late to the party, the whole ghastly remodel schtick began when local building regs wouldn’t let me put in a weight-bearing attic floor without a staircase.
†† Tricky in an attic.
††† Which I am still calling lino, because I’m old. Only it turns out lino is back. It is to laugh.
‡ Are you worried about what I’m going to wear to Buckingham Palace? I’m worried.
‡‡ If I hadn’t had to have stairs, I certainly wouldn’t have had a loo in the attic.
‡‡‡ We have a complete set of Calvin and Hobbes, which lives in the downstairs loo at the mews. I’ve just got to the one where Calvin says: . . . that would be pretty cool if they weren’t out to kill me.
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