We bought the house in Warfield in 1997 after 6 years in a rented flat. A former show house, it came with a massive twin oak in front and leaves of course.
So some furnishings were called for. Happily, a grant from Sue’s new employers dealt with the bed and things but we we needed some furniture to replace the 2 rickety garden chairs loaned by her brother.
So, a trip to the huge John Lewis in High Wycombe was undertaken. We had to fill our lounge/diner and in a spending spree to end them all we bought a glass topped dining table, a glass topped coffee table and a sofa.
We wanted a sofa, hard wearing, adequate to exceed the seating offered by 2 garden chairs and we certainly achieved that aim. In spades.
It is black leather, seats 8 in comfort, can sleep 2 (or 3 at a pinch) and has lasted 27 years to date without issue. The squabs are a tad tired but cushions take care of that and after the immensity of its assembly task we are reluctant to have it in pieces ever again.
When we had cats they never damaged it in any way by some miracle. Now we have dogs they consider it their lawful domain but they kindly leave us a little room too.
It stands about 3 or 4 inches off the wood flooring that replaced the former woolly carpet which does, of course, allow items to find their way under it. Usually, but not always, propelled by the dogs. Balls, toys, spoons and anything else under the height of 4 inches can be and is deposited thereunder.
The retrieval thereof is not the easiest of tasks for those of maturer years like us. For a start the sofa is a tad too large and heavy to encourage any sane attempt at moving it.
Apart from the necessary torches and sticks with handles some considerable contortion of the body is required.
In one’s eightieth year the prospect of having to move the coffee table to a safe distance, locate a torch and handy stick, remember where the object might have entered and in which direction and then the actual descent, prone, to the floor, employing the torch, remembering to use one’s better eye, listen the the “helpful” directions of one’s beloved thus, usually, having to move around on the floor still more because you have selected the wrong spot and the object is too far away or simply unseen requiring unhelpful scrabbling clutching torch and stick to an area that might, possibly, yield the missing item remains one of life’s more irritating little trials.
Many a time and oft have I regrettably essayed this manoeuvre, to my undying discomfort, finding, or not, the usual canine detritus, some of my strayed e-cigs, assorted dust which had escaped the reach of our lovely but aged Polish cleaning lady the odd Polo and once, I recall, I even found a book under the sofa.
Foootsoldier Says… 