I love flat-pack furniture, or more precisely, I love building flat-pack furniture.  This love stems back to my childhood, when I liked nothing more than playing with lego or my older brother’s Meccano set.  However, I was to all intents and purposes a clumsy child.  And I’ve grown up to be a clumsy adult – I trip up, a lot.  Usually, there’s nothing to trip over, but I find something nonetheless.  I’ve destroyed displays in John Lewis (and sprained my ankle in the process), I’ve entertained Japanese tourists in Las Vegas by going arse over tit on The Strip, and I’ve arrived at my hairdressers mildly concussed and bleeding.

And as we all know, clumsiness and DIY do not go hand in hand.  I like to think that I’m practical (I’m practically minded and always have a cunning plan) but the truth is, I’m pretty handless.

However, as a student, I found my niche in building flat-pack furniture.  My female flatmates were trying to put a table and chairs together, they emptied the box and pulled out the instructions and looked on in horror.  Where I saw fun, they saw stress.  I took charge, separating out all of the parts, ticking them off against the list of contents and was wielding my allen key with glee.

And so began a life-long love affair.  Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits looks on fondly when we take a flat-pack home, and I get stuck in with the enthusiasm of a child.  I’m not proud, I ask for help when I need it, but a special satisfaction is gained when I can build something all by myself.