At some point in all our lives there comes a moment when we think: 'If only [I won the lottery/had written The Da Vinci Code/got nominated to carry the Olympic Torch] my life would be so different. I would reach those sunlit uplands at last, life would be a dream and all would be plain sailing.' (Not that any sort of sailing would be easy on the sunlit uplands, except perhaps in a dream, but you get the drift.)
You might have less ambitious aspirations, of course. I do. In my case, they involve a cupboard in my garage.
This cupboard came from my old kitchen, where it had done sterling service for about 40 years according to the lady I bought the house from and, with other cupboards, when the kitchen was renovated, its destiny was to be put in the garage to continue its good work. A simple, unassuming wall cupboard, it would, along with its friends, provide me with joyous storage space in which I could squirrel away the paint tins, gardening bits & pieces, dog and cat food, spare wineglasses, tangled Christmas lights, unused windchimes, boxes that might come in useful one day, old plates, bags of pollyfilla, a juicer I used once before deciding it was easier to use a plastic lemon-shaped thingy and even, perhaps, the head of the lifesize wooden horse, built to take two men inside which was made for the pantomime of Robin Hood wot I wrote a few years ago, and which takes up most of one wall. (It's actually quite a useful cupboard in itself.) The sort of litter we all have in our garages, in fact.
All the cupboards are out there, but until I can clear a space none of them can yet be used. Not until I can start filling the wall cupboard. And I can't.
Because it is Upside Down.
It's not my fault. I got a handyman in to fix it to the wall. He was meticulous in measuring, using his spirit level and drilling holes in the right places. I was called away from my current masterpiece at least six times to hold the cupboard in position. I didn't mind - well, not much - because once the cupboard was up I could put things in it. The spare wineglasses. The dog and catfood, the polyfilla, perhaps some of the paint. Then I would be able to clear the shelves already there, remove them and fill the other cupboards (which would then be ranged neatly along the wall) with the juicer, the old plates, the rest of the paint, the windchimes, the gardening stuff and a few things I haven't mentioned because it just gets boring. And then I would be able to move some of the things out of the house - things that have no right to be there - and completely fill my lovely new cupboards. My spare room - not so much a spare room as a lobby - would be clean and tidy, and able to accommodate some of the detritus from my workroom. My workroom being uncluttered, my mind would be free to create wonderful new books. I tell you, I was really, really excited.
All it needed was this first cupboard to start it all off.
It was up at last. Nevil and I stood and gazed at it. Then he said, disapprovingly: 'I don't think much of these shelves. You won't put anything heavy on them, will you.'
'Nevil,' I said, 'this was a kitchen wall cupboard. It's had tins of baked beans and bags of flour and sugar and goodness knows what else on the shelves for the past 40 years. Of course I'm going to put heavy things in it.'
I opened the door, looked at the battens which held up the shelves. Instead of being beneath the shelves, they were above them. 'Nevil,' I said in a tone of deep, deep disappointment, 'you have put it on the wall Upside Down.'
I must say, he was mortified. For a perfectionist to make such an error, the hurt goes very deep. But nothing could be done about it then as he had to go, and when he rang later to offer to come and put it right, I said no thanks. I just couldn't bear to go through that laborious process again. Not when I had a builder in the house, who could do it in two shakes of a lamb's tail. And he would. In fact, he will. He's said so. It's just a matter of finding the time to pop in as he's passing, of remembering. And meanwhile...
Meanwhile, the garage, spare room, workroom and, by default, the entire house, remains cluttered because until that cupboard is usable I just can't seem to see my way through. And nobody, but nobody, realises just how quietly desperate I am to have a tidy garage. Starting with that one cupboard.
Once it's the right way up, I am sure Life will smile on me again. Or... could I just be making a bit too much of it...?
No. Surely not.
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