A Word in Your Ear with Jon Rhodes - April 7, 2011

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These past few weeks I’ve been under some serious stress at home as I’ve decided, well the Put Upon Wife has decided, it’s time we updated our kitchen.

Now given my age, you may be surprised this is the first time I’ve ever ventured down this torturous road.

To be honest, I’ve never stayed anywhere that long (I’ve been the Littlest Hobo of regional journalism) and have hardly felt the need to think about such serious home improvements.

But now I’ve put down roots it is time to admit the kitchen has outlived its natural life, one I reckon began when Man About The House was on our screens.

Had I known what getting a new kitchen entailed I reckon I would have re-attached the cutlery drawer with a new piece of Gaffa Tape.

But no, my house is now full of brochures, flat plans of kitchens (designed by my own fair hand online), and scrawled budgets plans which show I can afford the cost, but only if I sell a kidney and rent out my garage.

Oddly the stress was lifted the minute I ordered the new kitchen, though I am sure it will return when I get the credit card bill.

Anyhow, it’s done now, planned to within a millimetre and set for delivery in around six weeks.

One problem has arisen though since the deal was struck.

It seems myself and the Put Upon Wife have planned where everything will fit in the new oasis of fine dining – save for the traditional junk drawer.

“Oh no, there’ll be no clutter Jon, sleek and clean, that’s what the new kitchen will be,” Put Upon defiantly announced.

Dream on love, that’s all I can say. I mean without that very British of things, where will I be able to store all those AA batteries, of which I’ve no idea whether they are ‘dead’ or alive?

Where will I find a bicycle puncture repair kit box, empty save for that piece of hard chalk you have to file down?

Where will my old mobile phones end up? Where will I find an annoying piece of never ending string which tangles around everything including the keys to a bike lock long lost and tearing into that piece of brown parcel paper which I’ve always sworn will come in handy one day?

Put Upon does not believe me, given she struggles to shut the drawer and is exasperated by its very presence. But I reckon I know where everything is in it, and the six or seven other drawers just like it in the garage.

We Brits are great hoarders, well I am, and I still marvel at those rare moments when the very thing I need is found inside the drawer.

Not now, it’s all modern deep fill pan drawers designed, well to hold pans I believe.

Hang on, did I just say ‘deep’ drawers – I reckon I may have to lose a few pans. Unfeasibly long string you may just have a reprieve.