Why I cut my sofa in half
When it comes to a house move there are many things to consider. There is redirecting the post, packing, hiring a removal van and biggest one of all - getting rid of all the stuff you no longer want.
I started the packing process very early. Slowly but surely I dismantled my cupboards, finding things I didn’t even know I had. The contents filled endless black bin bags - some destined for charity shops, others for the dump.
And while getting rid of the general junk was cleansing and therapeutic, I found disposing of the furniture a little on the emotional side. And not because I was attached to it, I was simply used to it.
To make the severance easier, I managed to rehouse some of the furniture. So my dining table chairs went to Caz and Captain Geek, the kitchen trolley to Waxing Queen in Herne Bay; the rest, including a sofa, was to be picked up by British Red Cross and sold to raise money for the charity.
It all started very well until the removal crew realised they couldn’t get the sofa out of my flat. I have no idea how it went in (I wasn’t home that day) but it was very obvious it wasn’t coming out. In one piece that is.
In a state of a mild panic that I would be stuck with the bulky sofa, I knocked on Mr Landlord’s door and asked him if he had a saw. He roared with laughter but grabbed his tool box and came down to my flat.
After careful examination we realised that the only way in was to break into the fabric at the back of the sofa to see how it was made, and the best way to dismember it.
As the knife ripped through the fabric, I flinched. Not because I even liked the sofa, but because it felt somehow final. I spent many nights on it by myself watching TV, eating, drinking, sleeping and writing; it was a comfortable sofa. And now I was moving in with the boys and it was going to sofa heaven.
So we found all the key joints and Mr Landlord started sawing. I inhaled and waited for an emotional pang but it didn’t strike. Instead I felt relieved that I found a solution of getting the bulky item out of my flat.
Eventually it was cut in half and dragged out of the flat. I thought the lounge would feel emptier but it didn’t. It felt more spacious and somehow airier.
Much later that night as I rearranged the boxes and cleared my desk, I couldn’t help but wonder, when it comes to furniture and life, how many pieces are we holding on to out of a habit? How many people, jobs and sofas are in our lives just because they are comfortable and we don’t want to change?
My thoughts were interrupted by a text message, the next batch of photos arrived from Mr Chateauneuf. He has been decorating for the past few weeks, getting the house ready for my arrival, and sending me photos as each part of the house was completed.
As I was admiring the white banister which complimented freshly painted grey walls, I suddenly realised that although I was giving up the comfort and safety of my little castle, I was gaining a family and starting a new chapter.
Mr Chateauneuf went above and beyond to get the house ready for me to move in. He redecorated every room, bought new wardrobes to accommodate my footwear shopping addiction and constructed an office cabin for me at the back of the garden. He built a new home for me and invited me to live there.
It was no brainer. And just like that the white banister and grey walls helped me to let go of my sofa and the single gal’s lifestyle.