I can’t type that word without thinking of the song. Still, I can’t get caught up with The Beatles now, otherwise the fragile tone of the blog would take a catastrophic nosedive and with an 8 year old in Da House who doesn’t ‘feel Christmassy’ and the remains of the day still to do, I just can’t go there.
Yesterday, I moved two settees. Settees that is, not sofas. The reason it is settee, and not sofa, is because I am of Northern stock (mainly) and back in the day my ancestors sat around on hard-backed wooden settles and had nowt to do with the Southern softie ways of the sofa; that being more to do with the Ottoman ways of lounging around on a raised area of the floor amongst many cushions (see sofa: etymology). My use of the word settee once caused a bit of a row with a friend. They would not be impressed to read that I have not mended my ways. But what I say is surely who I am – if we change our lexicon – that is change, not add to – what are we left with? To roll out our original language as a party trick? Not for me.
To move the settees we needed three women and a boy. I skinned my large Northern knuckles on the doorframe in the process, and drew blood but the job is done.
The job is done. Sometimes, that is all that needs to happen. Sometimes. Yesterday. Hmmm.