I love a good wooden floor. This may just be the flu meds I'm currently filled with talking, but I'm genuinely about to do a brief post on floors, so buckle up.
These are the floorboards that were under my horrible beige carpet; look at them. Look at the paint, the scratches, the life in them! How could you not adore something like that? It get better; all of that belongs to my family. They are they clumsy, paint-sloshing, nail wielding cowboys who made that floor look so damn good.
Naturally, I have to board over it.
Those boards are creaky, and rattle when the heating turns on. There's a giant square of concrete where a fireplace vent used to be. We even found a supporting beam that had been sawed clear through. So, I had no choice - there must be a new floor.
I had to consider my options carefully. If I went for carpet, I'd be spending the rest of my life there with a layer of my own hair attached to everything. Tiles would be too cold, and linoleum would make me die inside. My only choice, really, was more floorboards.
New floorboards I can give my own life to. Wide, unfinished, and primed for a life of ink spills, spattered paint and scuffs. My heart soared.
Today my floor was finally bought - 210mm wide planks of varying lengths, with knotholes aplenty. I'm so excited that I'm bound to upload a photo of it still packed in the van.
For now, I must go back to lying on the sofa half-dressed and eating chocolate
0 replies:
Post a Comment