Right Said Fred

“Right,” said Fred, “Have to take the door off
Need more space to shift the so-and-so.”
Had bad twinges taking off the hinges
And it got us nowhere
And so we had a cuppa tea and
“Right,” said Fred, ” Have to take the wall down,
That there wall is gonna have to go.” (more)

So, on the Saturday morning after the Friday night we set about taking the top bit of the window out in the spare room.

Shattered GlassAt
about ten the night before, several drinks into the evening, we had
made plans for getting our little wardrobe upstairs (it’s been sat in
the front room for a year) because it’s half an inch too wide to get up
our dog-legged stairs.

Friends were bribed into helping with a cooked breakfast – and simply press-ganged if that didn’t work.

The wardrobe itself was a bargain and a gorgeous Oxfam find – it’s a
Gentleman’s Wardrobe, about 5 ft tall with a single door and a lid on
top that lifts up to reveal a mirror and a tray divided into sections.

Inside there are little shelves labelled shirts, pyjamas etc. And
the door even has a little tray for shirt studs – this is how perfect
it is for our late Victorian house.

As you can see I’m besotted with it and was determined to find a way of getting it up the stairs – come Hell or high water.

And, well, Hell it was…

Back to Saturday morning, picture the scene, we are both hungover
and Himself is standing on a chair at the window barking orders at me.

I dutifully unscrew the final screws holding the window to its
opening mechanism. At which point it becomes immediately obviously that
the large double-glazed sealed unit is far too heavy to hold.

In panic we try to reposition the window and replace the screws, but it’s far too heavy to hold in place.

By this stage we are both standing on chairs at the window holding
on for dear life – it felt like hours, it couldn’t have been more than
three minutes.

Just as I had convinced myself that there was no option other than
to let go (and at least save ourselves) Himself managed, through
supreme effort, to pivot the bottom of the unit out. This allowed us to
angle it and bring it back through the newly-created gap into the house.

After that we were both shaking, Himself through exersion and I
through terror. Downstairs afterwards his muscles were so blown that
his arms were shaking holding his cereal bowl.

When the troops arrived it took three big fit men to refit the window.

The wardrobe itself was a doddle.

5 Responses to “Right Said Fred”
  1. I think this is the first time I’ve seen Bernard Cribbins quoted on WBs… But then again he’s quite specialised…
    Yay for not breaking a window. And for a wardrobe with character.

  2. Dammit! Hoisted with my own entries.

  3. P says:

    and Himself – shaking from exertion and a female in terror. Memories of
    your weekend in Norn Ireland are awash, especially Himself doing a
    mighty fine of the Welsh bloke from Notting Hill, cheeks n’all, in my
    bedroom at hell knows what time of Sun morning, after a 30th done in

    At breakfast, S regaled us with the tale – I was far too comatose to
    recall – of Himself , looking to relieve himself in our well stocked
    wardrobe- shaking with the exertion of keeping it in and figuring out
    how to open the sliding doors – whilst S has the covers up to her chin
    wondering through the Sauvi haze- – “Who the hell is that man?” – “its
    the Welsh bloke!…erh… it’s Simon in his kecks.” and then the dry palm
    terror of “Omi God, oh please, please no…………….

  4. Ellie Clewlow says:

    you by any chance at the extra Peace Festival we held at the Sikh
    Community Centre in Leam at the start of the second Iraq war (yes,
    there is a point to this!)?

    We had a Right Said Fred moment with a twenty foot model of a bomb
    halfway up the stairs during an abortive yet lengthy attempt to get
    said bomb upstairs to the gig – followed by a ‘Let’s look inconspicuous
    while securing a twenty foot model of a bomb to the lamp post while the
    police drive by’ moment on the pavement outside.

    Happy days!

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