MY LIFE IN PIECES

An unbuilt flat-pack chair sat gathering dust in our living room for several months. When built, it would transform our lives, or so I was told. In a way it did. 

I can’t stand flat-pack furniture. It’s probably the reason why I’ve never been to Sweden.

Flat-pack products make me use some colourful and creative language whilst trying to assemble them. I come away with cuts and bruises and have usually wasted a day building something that is never quite right. I don’t even own a tool box, it’s more of a tool basket and its content leaves a lot to be desired. 

Mrs LHTD had arranged for a family gathering to be held at our place, and if I hadn’t built the flat-pack chair in time for this event then there would be trouble. She said that if I was unwilling to build it then why didn’t we pay the shop to build it for us? I was very tempted by the offer, but ego got in the way.

I put the job off for as long as I could, but in the end I was told to build it or else Mrs LHTD would do so instead. I struck a deal and said I would build the chair if she went and bought me a new shirt to wear for the ridiculous soirée.

My screwdriver was broken from the last flat-pack escapade. A mixture of wear and tear and being thrown against a brick wall was the cause of its demise. It was time I invested in the ultimate man tool: an electric drill driver. Mrs LHTD doubted that I would need such a tool as I wouldn’t know how to use it. I told her it would make building furniture much easier for me and I’d be more inclined to do so in the future.

I returned from B&Q with my new not-quite-top-of-the-range cordless electric drill driver. It wasn’t a thing of beauty but it did make a loud adrenaline-charged noise. I should have been excited about it but I really wasn’t. It would indeed help me build things more quickly but, as I mentioned previously, I don’t care for DIY and I definitely don’t care for flat-pack furniture, so I wasn’t raring to get started. 

Mrs LHTD went off to buy me a shirt and I started to empty the contents of the flat-pack box. There was more packaging than was necessary but eventually I found the pieces that I needed. My drill driver was by my side ready for action. 

I ignored the instructions from the start. Instructions are for incapable people. What these things need is some creativity. Then I found the Allen key. 

It turns out that this particular flat-pack creation didn’t require a new not-quite-top-of-the-range cordless electric drill driver. Probably best not to mention that to Mrs LHTD.    

Half the day had gone by the time the chair was able to stand unsupported, and then I realised that the seat was upside down. I should have swallowed my pride and let Mrs LHTD build it, or paid someone else to do so while she was out. 

By the time I had finished I didn’t really care if it looked like the picture on the box. At least it was done. It was a bit wobbly and there were several bolts and washers left over, but I reasoned that these were probably just spares.  My work was done and I sat down for a rest. Not on the new chair though – I’m not stupid.

The shirt that Mrs LHTD had bought me was one of those annoying flat-pack shirts which come with hundreds of little plastic clips.  Although these shirts don't need assembling, they are impossible to get the creases out of. However, it was too late to change it as the party was the next day.  ‘Why couldn’t you have got one from the rail?’ I asked. 

‘Do it yourself next time,’ she replied, mentioning in passing that the chair didn’t quite look right. 

The day of the party arrived and the event was soon in full flow. The new chair stood empty. Did the guests know I had built it?  I ushered an unsuspecting aunt over to it with the promise of a glass of red wine if she sat down. It had taken a lot of blood, sweat and tears to build that damn chair and it was going to be used.  

She sat down and I handed her the drink. 

She looked at my shirt and said, ‘Is your iron broken?’ 

I tried to make a witty retort about flat-pack shirts but was rudely interrupted.

‘This chair’s a bit wobbly,’ she said. 

Just then there was the sound of wood splintering and a very loud crack. I knew what was happening but the aunt’s earlier quip now helped me make a split-second decision not to help. 

The chair broke and she plummeted onto the floor in a flat-pack heap. Her glass of red wine went airborne and landed front and centre on my new shirt.

Mrs LHTD gave me as good a death stare as anyone’s given anyone ever before. The aunt lay on the floor and the whole room had stopped still and was looking at me as if I’d committed murder.

I looked at Mrs LHTD.

‘Do you still have the receipt for this shirt?' I asked. 'It’s ruined.’