... on newness.

These past few weekends gone, I've been shifting my furniture about. When I was a kid, 'changing my room around' was a beloved pasttime - I'd pull everything out onto the veranda and then rearrange - for a while the new perspective given by moving my bed from this corner to that was a bit like being on holiday.

I hadn't done it in a while though, but action was needed in order to fit in a new little table to hold my new big friend*. Also, I wanted to try out a feature of my bookcase. It was made for me by a local cabinetmaker, who designed an ingenious stand for the case to sit on. I was planning on chocking it up on bits of wood, but the cabinetmaker had made a jigsaw of wooden pieces which linked together to form a neat cabinet-makey base, and which could be used at full size (when the bookcase was lying flat) or small size (when the bookcase was standing tall) and the extra pieces fit in underneath. Neat!

Feeling like it was time for a change, I set about shifting.

It took all weekend, but it made me happy!

The little table made me even happier. C made it for me, shaking his head that I preferred to use his dodgy old concrete-covered ply rather than new.

Lovely!

*My new big friend WAS lovely too - until it started making a sound like a jet engine revving up and alas, all twenty-seven inches of it were pronounced 'DOA' and they're sending me a new one!