16th Sept, 2013
OK, so you read on past the post title. From here on in you have only yourself to blame.
No jokes, no thoughtful musings…just me bragging about being a supermum with muscles of steel. (Overlooking the fact that this is the first time in ages I’ve done anything more physically strenuous than changing a nappy.)
And maybe also a small amount of moaning about the fact that I am a bit of a goon.
So, while my child was napping today (this was after Nap Wars, Part 1) I received a delivery of a serious quantity of firewood, to keep us going through the rest of these end-of-winter evenings.
Visualising stuff….spatial ability….weights and measures. ..These things have never been strong suits of mine. As such I had very little concept of what the 2m3 of wood I had blithely ordered online would look like.
Until a guy named Oleg arrived with it on the back of his truck (helpfully fitted with a mini crane to lob said wood into place).
Oleg was a little disconcerted by the funky design of our new place, with its various overhanging bits and pieces of flat roof here and there. I think he’s Scandinavian. Houses come in flat packs out there.
But being a can-do kind of guy, Oleg shrugged in a ‘let’s try it – the worst that can happen is I drive a crane arm into your house’ sort of way…and aimed his truck towards our wood bunker.
I’m not kidding – this truck/crane was LOUD. I came over all doomstruck; convinced the nap gods were out to get me. (Bear in mind that persuading Ioan to go down for a 2nd half of his nap took longer than the duration of the first half of said nap).
But I listened for the screams – and none came. What sounded like Monster Trucks meets Robot Wars just a few metres away didn’t touch his cherub-like dreamings.
Anyway, hurrah for that, but back to the point. As well as 2m3 of wood being a LOT of wood, it turns out that ‘delivering’ 2m3 of wood did not mean tipping out said 2m3 into the log bin. It meant perching the 2x1m3 sacks of wood NEXT to the log bin for me to unload.
I stopped after the first 100 logs for a cup of tea and to wash my hands before Mr Nap Attack woke.
And come the close of Nap Wars, Part 2, later in the afternoon, I was ready to finish the job, flex my mummy muscles and collapse in a heap with a brew and a chunk of the new chocolate which I just HAD to buy in the name of sampling local fare.
Tidy (as they say in Wales). Kiwi translation: Sweet as.
The more observant or log-stacking experienced among you will probably already spotted from this photo that it was unlikely to be this straightforward.
Look don’t even say it, alright? Cos the answer to any question you are likely to have right now is pretty much: Because I am a goon.
Having stacked sack 1, pretty much completely filling the available space, I came to do sack 2. Which was helpfully sitting almost exactly where its contents need to be deposited.
I’ve mentioned weights and measures before, you know, about my ability to gauge them successfully and all (do stop me if I’m getting repetitious). So, how much would you say 1m3 of logs WEIGHS? Answer: no idea….but moving the bleeding thing was not going to be an option.
So I did the only thing I could think of: I clambered over the log stack, wedged myself into a tiny space and began stacking logs to the sides and behind me, while making space in front – and gradually inching forwards, as the sides climbed higher around me.
I’m going to make a fairly sweeping statement now, from my lofty new position as an experienced wood unloader:
It is almost NEVER a good idea to stack large logs up around yourself.
Or to put it another way: half an hour spent wondering which part of you is going to be the first to need treatment for horrific crushing injuries is not time spent happily.
The whole thing went off like a bizarre game of supersize Jenga in reverse.
And worst of all, in a bid to get out of the task at hand, I kept imagining I was hearing the sound of a crying baby. So on at least three occasions I scrambled hobbit-like over the precariously stacked logs around me, only to get to the house and establish he was still fast asleep.
Anyway, there was never going to be much of a final thought to this post, so I will leave you with the only piece of take-home advice that I can (other than the don’t stack logs around yourself thing).
This is what 2m3 of logs looks like. Should you ever need to know.
(Not sure where we are going to put the 2.5m3of pine logs when they arrive. I’m not even kidding. Arse biscuits.)