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So last night I went round to my BFF's to catch up, help her empty the fridge, catch up on all the news &c. We had pasta and some wine. We sat in her backyard and enjoyed the sultry August night. But just as I was going upstairs to the loo I remembered that one of my jobs of the night was to help her remove a large and cumbersome piece of furniture from the spare room. This was a chaise longue that had been rejected by 2 different moving companies as "unmovable": even though it existed in an upper-floor room and had been moved there by some magic, they claimed it could not be removed by normal means. So on my way back from the loo I decided to make a start. The angle presented a problem (the top was narrow but angled; the base was wide but straight) but after about half an hour most of the couch was out of the guest room. Operating on the theory that it got UP there, and thus theoretically it could be removed, we set at it. It took us about 2 hours, with constant readjustments and tilting one way or the other, but we got it out. (We tore off one of the legs, but we left the leg with the chaise at the curb, on the theory that a neighbourhood that supports not only the fixie but the backyard chicken coop probably has someone who knows how to reattach the leg.) By sheer determination we performed a job that professionals claimed could not be done. I was rewarded with a few shots of quality bourbon for helping to do that which they claimed could not be done. We were actually really drunk while we were wrestling with the chaise, so felt no pain, but I woke up this am to one gazillion bruises up and down my arms.


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