After two days of enduring no kitchen facilities because our floor was being ripped up, the tiles are finally laid. They’re gorgeous. They’re Italian stone and cost a fortune—never mind the laying. I could stand and look at them forever.

But I can’t walk on them. They are in various stages of bedding (not in the Biblical sense of course); curing (who knows what that means), grouting, and sealing. If you count that, it equates to four night of not walking on tiles. So, beautiful tiles notwithstanding, we have encamped in the lounge room.

Our house is designed such that the front door is in the middle—well slightly to the right. Off the entrance to the right are the lounge and dining rooms, while to the left are the bedrooms and bathrooms, and behind the entrance and hallway is the kitchen/family room.

Picture this. We cannot walk on the tiles. So we cannot walk on the entrance, hallway, kitchen and family room floors. Ergo, we cannot get into the kitchen, bathroom, or en-suite. This has made leg-crossing a whole new experience as, in order to get to a bathroom, we have go out onto the verandah via the sliding door—can’t use the front door as that opens into the entrance, down the front steps, past the garage, up the side of the house, around the back and into the flat. But first requesting permission from the tenants—luckily they are son and D-i-L so they won’t refuse … one hopes. After which we return by the same route.

That’s fine you might think—but we are old and you know what that means. That’s right—4am bathroom wake-up. So out we go, in the dark, dressed for the Antarctic (it’s minus whatever in the early hours), stumble around outside, wake the dogs, wake the family, do whatever, and stumble back. 

In the lounge we have an airbed, doona and pillows; my entire work wardrobe is hanging in the dining room, and part of the kitchen is on the dining room table. It’s like living in a two room house—no, it is living in a two room house—with an outside privy.

The dogs have been banished to the great outdoors for the duration. They are unimpressed. Samson, aka Destructo Dog, has ripped up three sleeping bags, one sheepskin cover, and chewed the handle off a pair of secateurs in protest. Gracie, The Princess, has that ‘I’ve found a pea in my bed’ expression on her face.

I can see this is going to be the longest four days of everyone’s life.