Once upon a time there was a girl who moved to a house in Bulgaria. A house with no indoor staircase.
Every time that girl wanted to go upstairs, she had to go out the front door and walk around to the external staircase at the back of the house. Every time that girl wanted to go downstairs she’d have to go outside, down the external stairs and around to…you get the idea.
Outside. In pouring rain. In deepest snow. In pyjamas.
This girl had a boyfriend who, despite his arty-farty degrees (plural) and complete lack of DIY experience, turned out to be quite the handyman. He was as surprised as she was.
‘Please make me an indoor staircase,’ she’d plead.
‘Put it on the list,’ he’d sigh.
At the time, the list in question was four pages long and included much more important things like:
- Get windows.
- Make a kitchen.
- Get heating and wood.
- Replace mud floors with, er, proper floors.
- Get lots of cats. Cuddle cats.
So it took a while for the boy to get around to the staircase. Decades (or what felt like it) later, work finally began.
The boy toiled and toiled through the cold; building new walls, knocking through old walls, making new doorways and doors, and oh so much plastering. He plastered ‘til his fingers bled – or maybe that was Bryan Adams in the summer of ’69. Things got blurry for a while. Time passed.
‘It’d better be f**king done by Christmas or I’m moving back to f**king England,’ the sweet girl encouraged.
‘Mmmmrrrrhhh,’ was all the broken boy could manage.
And lo, like a Christmas miracle, it was done. In fact, as Christmas miracles went, it was right up there with the virgin birth. The girl didn’t have to move back to England after all – although the boy might have quite liked it if she did.
PS. It took until Easter to get all the finishing touches done, like flooring and painting. Hence, the late post. But anyway, it’s done, hurrah! Marvel at its splendidness! Well done that boy.
|Rob takes in the mountain air…from the comfort of the staircase.|
|Knocking through a supporting wall to make a doorway under the stairs. |
It was only slightly scary.
|“Plastered ’til his fingers bled…”|
|Even Pepper the cat is impressed. And she has a lump of coal for a heart.|
|You can’t see it, but there is a door under the stairs where we knocked through into the kitchen.|
And the wall hasn’t collapsed yet, so that’s good.