Truly delighted with my sense of enterprise today as, despite the fact that the boys aren’t yet back at school, and therefore I cannot seem to finish a thought before being interrupted, I have managed to solve a scratchy problem.
Our kitchen floors are, if you remember, a smooth and classy walnut, a modern and unblemished stretch of tortoiseshell from skirting to skirting.
Or at least, that was how they began.
Our chairs: supremely practical, stackable, comfortable, near-invincible despite years spent at the mercy of energetic boys… have been the cause of some painful gashes in the floor’s surface. Under the table, after nearly a year, lurk a web of scars (some of which could, at a pinch, be dried weetabix?) that, frankly, demote my kitchen from interiors magazine photoshoot territory and scream ‘family home.’
All of which is absolutely fine, except that I realised I didn’t want to have to steel myself as another chair was scraped back by a small user, and that I didn’t want to become one of those people who get hung up about their decor instead of enjoying the company. After all, that’s what my whole business is meant to be about: Design for a Family Home.
Inspired, I went to our local hardware shop, and asked. For shoes for the chairs. And amazingly, they had them. They are called ferrules and people buy them for their walking sticks. So declaring “I’ll take 24!” felt rather ostentatious, but the shopkeeper was delighted. At 35p each I was too.
Here, in all their glory, are my chairs with shoes.
I’ve begun the term on a high, we can only move on from here.