Here are my ‘boys’ Simon and Max, who have just managed to manoeuvre this chair out of a tight doorway, ready to take it to the tip.
I’m reeling a bit from the suddenness of the decision and the lack of ceremony getting rid of it. I feel superstitious about it and not sure exactly why I have quietly hung on to it.
I’ve had this chair for thirteen years now.
I bought it to die in.
I have written a few paragraphs in my first draft about buying it, but as my word count is becoming a bit excessive, suspect there’s a good chance my editor will cull its mention.
Most visitors to our house will have walked past it without realising what it was and perhaps a little surprised in our persistent ‘lack of taste’ in that through-room!
Essential chimney repairs mean we need a new hearth and the carpet will no longer fit. It’s rather worn and stapled to the floor in one corner anyway, but the upshot is, all the furniture in the room has to come out. We’ve always talked about changing the furniture when we eventually ‘get round to this room’ so all of a sudden the appropriate time has come.
It had to be moved today. I shouldn’t be, but I’m rattled. I’m not sure what purpose it has served me, keeping it. I’m surprisingly fond of it. I have spent hours practicing visualisation, meditation etc in this chair so maybe it’s because in the end, it’s the chair I got well in.
Nevertheless, a text conversation with my childhood friend only a couple of hours ago produced the response “Burn that chair!!” and as a chair is not my raison d’être, but its end requires some ceremony, here you go Adrienne!