The Hoard of The Flying Knives.

Progress is a terrifying thing.

Especially in a hoarded house since things get way worse before they get better. Clearing can be a bit like going bananas in a forest with a chainsaw. You do flatten the trees but the chances are high that the trees will be equally as successful at flattening YOU.

Flashback to the conversation that started it:
Major Dragon: ..."and it is only 50 pounds, so what do you think?"
Secret Dragon: "yeah, if you want" thoughtcloud above head: "what was 50 pounds? Oh hell, what did I just agree to?"
MD: "great! Then you can get rid of that horrible office chair"
SD reflex response: "and that knackered computer table"
MD: "yes"
SD thoughtcloud sounding the alarm: "WHAT THE HELL IS SHE BUYING THAT JUST MADE HER AGREE TO GET RID OF A TABLE?!"
I mean, you ALL know how she feels about tables.
Stupidly after the initial panic I just rolled with it. To discover that MD was replacing my beat up faux leather office chair (that I brought in as MY chair and refused to part with as there was no room for me on the couch) with a new swish one a workmate was getting rid of. At speed. At such speed it arrived on the doorstep before I had even figured out a space for it. We ended up half an hour before the chair landed trying to ensure the front door could even open wide enough to allow my new swish seat to enter. (yes, mine. She thinks we will share it but the couch is her dance space. My Swayze face of Steel says so)

The chair duly trundled in and squeeeeezed into the hall. And spent the evening there being sidled around. But alas. The trees were waiting after my chainsaw massacre style tidy. I carried my teapot past the chair and got caught. The chair bounced off me, the front door and then off me again knocking me into a large shelving unit.

And the trees fell.

Or rather a fish tank lid, complete with bulb and flying cables, a plastic poncho, a metal pot lid holder, a copy of Attitude magazine with a naked man on the front and what felt like 3 tons of polystyrene shot off the top of the shelves and launched themselves on to my head. And of course since I was jammed between chair and shelves there was to be no leaping to safety. Also rooting me to the spot was pure terror. On the shelf behind my shoulders was a box of old kitchen knives waiting to be disposed of, and I could feel something cold and metal against my neck...

So I stood there. While Major Dragon grumpily hauled herself to her feet for the slowest rescue ever grumbling the whole way. It was like being rescued by Pratchett's Foul Ole Ron. She opened the living room door and was distinctly underwhelmed to find me standing in the middle of a scene of carnage with a large fish tank lid and an equally as large knife balanced on my shoulders. And still clutching my teapot.

I suppose it says far too much about me that the first thing I did was hand the teapot over to be put down somewhere safe, doesn't it? SAVE THE TEAPOT, IT IS MY ONLY HOPE. I won't even pretend it was the almighty thump to the head.

And really, I am glad I did. I definitely needed restorative cup after phase two of the Get the Chair Into A Room Operation. While balancing the chair over our heads in a bid to fit its padded majesty through the not so large living room doorway we ended up next to the shelving unit again. And the knives were still angry at being disturbed from their peaceful slumber.

Let us just say, I don't think I will need to cut my toenails for a while.

I think I may spend the rest of the week telling myself that the mild concussion, limp and large leather chair means I can do a brilliant Bond Baddie impersonation.

PS. I feel I should apologise to the poor soul while searching google for the "hidden hoard of hotness" wound up here instead. I suspect these were really NOT the droids ladies you were looking for.