Tapioca brain

I am such a nitwit. After spending much of yesterday imprecating a chum for acting like a complete idiot, my own brain appears to have turned into pudding, a punishment perhaps for my lack of charity.

Our two new sofas are beautiful. However, a chunk has been gouged out of one of the wooden handrests by the iniquitous delivery men, which I didn’t notice until my love pointed it out. More importantly, the wood colour on the two seater is entirely different to the wood type on the three seater.

Now this is good, cos it means the company we bought them from can’t blame the delivery guys for the screw up; doesn’t matter what the delivery was like, they still sent us mismatched sofas, and the onus is upon them to fulfil their contract. I am, however, kicking myself for not noticing it yesterday on arrival. And it’s a pain in the arse, cos with Crimbo round the corner, getting repair/replacement work done is going to be difficult. They’re talking about sending someone out in seven days! Bloody dark ages I call it. Except that if we were in the dark ages I could go and demand my replacement straw bedding with the litigenous aid of my axe. Our ancestors understood, far better than we, the crux of the law.