Friday 10th November 2023

Replacing one sofa with another – I might as well have built the Albert Memorial single-handed. I wanted my old sofa out, because it was modern. I saw online a new old one from an antique dealer in Shropshire – ram’s head carvings, a touch of gilt, Victorian two-seater, unique design.

The dealer said his son was sitting on it in Walthamstow. Maybe even it wouldn’t be released for sale, although for sale online. But finally it was mine. Then the agony of delivery – to the upholsterer. The agony of fabric choice, the agony of delivery of fabric choice, the agony of disposal of old sofa and agony of delivery of new old one – would it go through the door?

The sofa scheme was a whole way of life. It began at the time of the Chelsea Flower Show and ran for five months.

Well, the new old sofa was whisked through the door with the utmost ease. I’d thought they’d have to pull the house down to get it in. And the old sofa was taken in by a man in Hackney and delivered thence by me (dear, precious Nextdoor.com assisted and the Maharajah, King of the Internet, advised as to wording of advert etc).

BUT, new old sofa lower than anticipated. Ghastly modern plastic sockets revealed. Some alleviation could be achieved by peeling off a sticker displaying the logo of the fibre optic provider – all the same, the only hope was to acquire plinth with an item on it. A plant? A bronze?

So hours scouring for plinths, plants, bronzes… that way of life resuming… in an auction on a Sunday a plinth came up. Horrendous bidding. I had lunch guests. Just clicked and clicked. Had to have the plinth. Won the auction, at terrible cost. Then had to fetch the plinth, from Lots Road auction rooms. Whole day project. Bus, train. At Lots Road the porter was in the toilet which I knew because, emerging, he described in some detail of the drama of his toilet visit. The plinth was just a solid block of wood. Somebody had done fluting and faux-marbling in ochre. Hardly justified the price. Also very heavy. Like Christ dragging it to the station.

So the plinth achieved. What to put on it? A bronze came up, Genie de Travail, in fact a man with minimal drapery. Spelter in fact, which means hollow. For reasons now forgotten I had to leave a bid – but won. This time, low, thank goodness. Only £80. Which shows that Maria was right: when God closes a window, He opens a door somewhere else. The plinth – horror ££££. The bronze to go on it – £.

Too bad I had to go all the way to Lewis to fetch it. But I was back in the drawing room by 3pm. Statue the right size. Concealed the sockets.

For the time being, apart from re-painting, the drawing room requires no further improvements…

Socket Horror – Because new old Sofa lower than anticipated

Plinth and Bronze Solution

Bronze – Spelter in fact, i.e. hollow. It is called Genie de Travail. But this Man Doesn’t seem to be Especially Hard-Working