Piano Removal

Well, you'll be pleased to know that the faffers have finally put in an offer on our house; a decent offer. An offer we have accepted. Hurrah! This means I need to get myself into 'moving house' mode, having drifted away from it over the last few weeks because nothing was happening. And it's hard to stay motivated about something when nothing is happening on the something front. If you get my drift.

Any hooo, today Andy and I are going to re-visit the cottage in the country with the massive, massive garden/mini-field that we've been keeping our fingers crossed for. Just to make sure it is definitely right for us. And to check that the land hasn't developed into a useless quagmire following the torrential rain England has been experiencing in the last week or so. Because what's the point in having extra land if you can't grow anything in it apart from rice maybe, or hippopotomi?

So last night, after re-adjusting to the idea that we could actually now be moving, I went and stared at our piano. Yes, we have a piano. I bought it over ten years ago because learning to play the piano has been a yearning of mine ever since child-hood. I can just about hold a two fingered tune, but I really want to learn to play properly, you know with all ten digits, and with two staves of music. I know it means trying to get both halves of my brain to work in harmony, which is a challenge in itself. But the more pressing exercise regarding the piano and linked to actually moving, is how to get the piano out of the house and to the new cottage.

You see, when we moved to our current abode, there were two back doors, one of which led in a very nice, agreeable and straight line into my writing room where the piano currently sits. So there was no problem getting the piano into the house. However, when we had the downstairs bathroom revamped, the building work included blocking up this particular back door, as we deemed it excessive to have two back doors where one back door would suffice, besides we needed a corner bath, so back door numero dos was bricked up.

About two or three months later, maybe longer, even a year, either Andy or myself, we can't remember who, suddenly said,'How are we going to get the piano out of the house if we ever decide to move?'

Because in blocking up the second back door, we had created an inner vestibule, in the shape of a square, with square angles and not enough room to swing an accordian, let alone a fully grown piano. Straight line removal was no longer an option.

Oops!

So Heather and I stood staring at the piano last night. Mother and daughter, side by side, against piano, on it's own but covered in photos and bizarre cat ornaments. Now, Heather and I have been through many furniture-based removal traumas before. I often think we should set up a removal firm because up until now there is nothing we have tried to move that hasn't gone exactly where we've wanted it to go. Beds, wardrobes, sofas, we have shifted these things where other people have stood and stared and sucked in their breath and said, 'Ooooh, that'll never go through/up/around there.' I think it's because Heather and I share a grim determination to get things done plus an optimism that some may perceive to be naive, but which we see as a challenge.

'It's only five and a half feet long,' said Heather, making an accurate measurement with her outstretched arms.
'And the door is, what, nearly seven feet tall,' I said, ditto with the arm measurement plus standing on my toes.
'And if that sofa got in here,' said Heather, pointing to said sofa, 'then that piano will go out.'
And we formulated a plan involving piano upended, a small trolley on wheels, bubble wrap and duvets and about eight muscular firemen.

So that was sorted, then.

When I told Andy of our plan, he seemed less convinced.
'Piano's are heavy things,' he said. 'Especially when they are upended.'
'I'm not going to try moving it on my own,' I said.
'I should hope not,' said Andy. 'Not after you got pinned under that sofa you brought downstairs on your own during the summer.'

Andy looked thoughtful, like a man contemplating how to get a piano out of a house.

'Do you have a better plan?' I asked.
'Well,' said Andy, 'it depends whose viewpoint you're looking from.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning I've no doubt we SHALL get the piano out of your writing room,' said Andy, 'only my plan involves a saw and a sledgehammer.'
'No,' I said. 'I think not.'
'Okay,' said Andy, looking only a little crestfallen.

It will come with us to our new house, this piano. It will.