Defenestration Pile

It’s funny how you can look at things in two completely different ways at different times.

Let’s say you’re presented with a scenario several weeks ago. Let’s say that scenario comes up as part of a process during which you order and pay for a new carpet. The scenario in question revolves around the existing carpet and what will be done with it. Will it be taken up already, prior to the fitters coming with the new carpet, or will it need to be done as part of the fitting.

Then let’s say that you’re presented with a scenario today. This scenario also revolves around the existing carpet and what will be done with it. The carpet fitters are coming at any point within the next couple of hours.

Are you looking at the existing carpet really wishing that you’d paid that little bit extra to have it taken up and removed by the fitters, or are you looking at that carpet and embracing the fact that you get to remove it by yourself?

What I enjoyed about the carpet experience is how it evolved as my morning went on. I knew that I needed to remove it. We’d kept it in place, you see, as we were so close to Christmas with the fitting of the new one that, knowing our luck, had anything gone wrong we would have had the old carpet as a back-up plan. A paint stained, worn back-up plan. But a back-up plan nonetheless.

I looked at the carpet and had already decided how I was getting it up. I would roll it neatly, moving across the room, and then carry it out of there. Maybe just leaving it in our bedroom for the time being. A simple task.

For starters the rolling didn’t really work. It more sort of folded itself as I tried to roll it, and in larger chunks than I was hoping. I guess because it had been flat and walked on for so long it was just not even willing to entertain the notion of it being a cylinder, even in death. So, fine, I folded it.

So the carpet was in the middle of the room. Just under two and a half metres long and about half a metre wide. Kind of a flat roll is the best way to describe it.

I then thought that if I could fold it further, and secure it with tape, I would make it even easier to move. So I went to get some tape. Nothing special, just parcel tape that would hold the carpet in a reasonable fashion. I planned to use enough to fight against the tape’s natural instinct to rip and generally annoy.

The tape just twisted around itself as I tried to manhandle it and the carpet into some sort of order.

Fine, tape was out.

I picked up the carpet to see how heavy it was. It was, actually, not that bad. And when I picked it up, it folded in half of its own accord. So it was only just over a metre long. Albeit twice as thick as before. An easy job, then, to carry it down the stairs and get it out of the house via the front door. Carry it round to the back, dump it in the back garden and revisit it later to get it into smaller pieces so Carole could manage it at the tip.

Job is a good ‘un.

But as I picked it up and it flopped about I started to think that I may die on the stairs. All it would take is one wrong move and I’d be lying at the bottom in a heap either on or under the carpet. And the underside of the carpet was rough as a badger’s arsehole, so I would have had terrible carpet burns.

So I abandoned the plan. I was starting to lose hope. I had visions of just dragging it out of the room into the bedroom, and moving it properly when Carole came home. I had visions of offering the carpet people extra money to remove it for me, even though we’d not asked for that specifically.

Then it came to me. The obvious solution.

Which is why, if you could see into our back garden at about half past nine this morning, you would have seen an old carpet fly out of an upstairs window, unfurl itself in mid-air and cover the patio like a soft furnishing snow fall.

Maybe I’ve found a new vocation.p