Back to basics
In the annual home-improvement debate, the hoarding by Sophie White is not helping her case re the Sh*te-Filled Extension, as Himself has dubbed it
Every Summer, Himself and I return to a debate that has raged for nearly six years now: the Light-Filled Extension. Himself is adamant that we don’t need a ‘Sh*te-Filled Extension’ and that we’ll be moving any day now, anyhow. He has been struck down with a different highly privileged middle-class affliction: the Frontage Obsession.
He doesn’t seem to realise that we’re lucky enough to have a roof over our heads, and that a driveway falls under the umbrella of ‘ideas far above our station’. Meanwhile, I actively enjoy our lack of driveway — the way I see it, Dublin City Council is kindly footing the bill on our ‘on-street driveway’.
On the matter of the sh*te-filled extension, he is probably right. My sh*te-hoarding has worsened with every additional square metre I have to play with. When, in our 20s, we lived in a tiny van, I had every inch filled with possessions. When I’d run out of traditional storage options, I affixed velcro to the salt and pepper shakers and stored them upside down, stuck to the ceiling.
I expand to fill my space — that’s just how I operate. The thought that my entire life once fitted in a van is truly incredible to me. Now, I have waterproof boxes in the yard to store the various accumulations I can’t bear to part with. The enormous vintage punch bowl and glasses set I have officially never used? Four different hammocks? Endless Aldi miscellaneous-aisle notions: air-fryer, anyone?
“The thought that my entire life once fitted in a van is truly incredible to me” It’s a sickness, and Himself insists that any additional square footage will only fuel it.
Our kitchen is the subject (and site) of most of our heated debates. It’s such a small space, and rammed with so much stuff, that neither of us can even gesture wildly when arguing in there. The last month was spent envisioning improvements to the space that wouldn’t tip into full Dermot Bannon territory. However, every which way we approached it, the cost outweighed the benefits.
I resorted to public moaning, which I find often throws up solutions. My book club came to the rescue in this instance. “You don’t have a dishwasher, Soph. No wonder you hate your kitchen,” one pointed out, and slowly the penny dropped. She was right, the dishes are probably the single biggest issue in terms of kitchen (and life) clutter.
I started to fantasise about all the hours spent dish-washing, reclaimed. What could I accomplish in my life if I wasn’t doing dishes for hours of the day? Perhaps we’ve been over-complicating things, and a basic appliance could solve our problem. While I mulled this simple solution, I also made this simple but delicious brown bread.