It's an inordinate joy to have a working sink again, and to able to run the dishwasher. The latter was at capacity yesterday by the time it was re-connected to the drain. Our intrepid Mr Waterman, who had agreed to do the sink for us, wished he hadn't: the job was awkward in the extreme, and cutting through inch-thick beech was quite a test for our DIYer-grade jigsaw. Mr W specialises in central heating systems, so, as I remarked to him, getting him to fit a sink is a bit like asking a neurosurgeon to lance a boil.
Paul, who refitted the kitchen at the old house, will make a start on the tiling on Monday: we shall be away from home while the really horrible task of lifting the floor tiles is in progress. Good planning, eh?
The local takeaways will start to feel the draught, however, now that we (almost) have a fully serviceable kitchen. We could have cooked at home last night, but, it being Martyn's birthday, we had dinner at La Dolce Vita in Lamberhurst, and it was excellent. Generous amuse-bouche, lightly battered fried fish starter and racks of lamb with spinach and a small serving of sauté potatoes. A nice touch is the listing of alcoholic strength in the copious wine list: we chose an Apulian red at 12.5% (noting, with no intention of ever trying it, another wine on the list at a whopping 16%).
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