It’s a bitter-sweet moment in the brave new world of my kitchen. My refurbishment is all over bar the shouting/snagging. I have shiny new surfaces and handle-less cupboards that don’t close when you want them to then mysteriously open on their own in the middle of the night. Trust me to have cupboards with attitude. I have spent a week deciding where to stash my mung beans and whether to get an orange teapot to offset the sterile, dentist’s surgery ambience as the man in the worktop shop suggested. This from a man who wore waist high jeans and had no genitals that I could easily discern. I told him not to worry as I’d be incorporating an aqua marine splashback; at this he winced. In Brighton we do things differently which is why I have had Guardian reading tradesmen called Hamish and Orlando who don’t take sugar and put the seat down when they’ve had a wee. They have been most conscientious and accommodating; indeed, when they left I kissed them. Adieu my little fitters, ’til the next time….