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Attila the Bed

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Attila the Bed

It’s finally happened. We have a new bed. The flat-packed bed arrived at 6pm last night in three boxes and about four thousand bits. It had a set of instructions that appeared to have been translated from Flemmish into English by a drunk Chinaman. Isembard Kingdom Brunel would have stared at the instructions for 5 minutes, drank a large whisky and gone off to change career to pig farming.

Anyway after dinner at around 9pm we decide that it’s time to build the bed so that we can sleep in it that night. Great idea. I attempt to permanently cripple myself by carrying it all upstairs. Once upon I time I was young and healthy. These days I have the memory of a baked potato and am falling to pieces faster than a leper ina centrifuge. I was already shattered by the time we started building it.

Mrs Moosehunter gets very stroppy and irate as soon as something goes wrong during this kind of assembly operation. I also become less than sociable. You would have thought that by now we would have decided never to undertake this kind of project together, but no. We’re gluttons for punishment. Mrs Moosehunter first became angry when she was guiding a number of dowel-pins into the appropriate sockets and I accidentally allowed the heavy headboard to drop on her fingers by not being psychic. This morning I expect she is fairly bruised. I know that there is perhaps a couple of square inches of my body that don’t hurt.

Then came the metal part of the bed (the frame between the head and foot boards that constitutes most of the bed and, incidentally, most of the weight.) This looks like carbon fibre, but weighs the same as cast iron. I know this because I dropped the entire structure on my left foot and this morning two of my toes are flat and make an unpleasant crunching sound when I walk.

I had to get away for a coffee break part way through the exercise or the bedroom would have become ‘Thunderdome’ – two people enter; only one leaves. I’m very surprised I didn’t end up sleeping on the sofa last night with the constant hovering on the edge of argument.

One thing that amazes me is how designers of flat packed furniture can make something that has holes for screws that are in places where there is no hope of getting a screwdriver. On the headboard is a decorative iron section with superimposed metal arches. In the most complicated and intricate part of this is a hole for you to screw it to the wooden part. There is exactly an inch of space above the hole and then a mass of complex metal. The screw to go in the hole is half an inch long (I measured all this.) To my mind it is insane to expect someone to find a screwdriver half an inch long and have enough control over it in that small space to actually do up a screw. Nutters!

In the end, the bed was built and I’m impressed with how solid it is. I pulled and pushed the footboard until I almost put my shoulder out, listening for creaks or groans or complete collapses. After all, I’m used to the flimsy heaps of shit we’ve had for the past two years. There is not a single creak. Heaving at the thing, it wouldn’t even move. It’s heavy. It’s solid. I was half expecting to be woken in the middle of the night by Attila the Hun asking for his battering ram back.

Incidentally did you know that Attila the Hun, pyscopath, legendary killer and scourge of the Roman Empire, died from a nosebleed on his wedding night.

Bummer.

Moosehunter.

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Written by SJAT

December 20, 2009 at 12:09 pm

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