Post by WDB on May 31, 2021 7:41:41 GMT
I had to destroy an armchair yesterday. It had lost its fire safety tags (I wish I’d checked that before saving it from the house clearers) so I literally couldn’t give it away. The council would collect it, but not for weeks, and we’re ready to exchange contracts on a sale, which I don’t want to delay. And it was too bulky to simply put in the car to take to the tip.
So I had to take it apart. I had a box of screwdrivers, a big Swiss Army knife and — my big hope — a sledgehammer. Fortunately, as it turned out, I also had pretty much all day.
I started with an ugly pine kitchen cabinet that the charity collectors had also refused. Remove a dozen screws, tap it a couple of times with the hammer and I had a pile of boards ready to load. Easy. Now on to the chair.
Look inside a super-value DFS chair (this offer must end Monday!) and I imagine you’ll find chipboard, machine screws and a few nails. This one was built on a frame of 30mm square oak, clad in hessian, wadding and thick layers of foam, then covered in fabric edged with super-tough piping. It was not built to be dismantled with hand tools. The screws I could reach removed the castors. To get to any more required excavating through the layers of covering to even find them, then persuading them to turn after 32 years of going nowhere. I removed as many as I could but it remained resolute chair-shaped.
We broke for lunch, took the other stuff to the tip and stopped on the way back to buy a saw. Even with this, it took another hour to reduce the thing enough to get it in the car, as I had to work around millions of staples and sharp metal fixing strips, and the layers of wrapping held the joints together even after the timbers were severed.
I should probably have stripped it completely bare, and dumped the bits in timber and scrap metal as appropriate, but West Sussex County Council’s delightful recycling elves were happy to take care of that. They took my dad’s collection of 1990s paints and chemicals too, without blinking; glad I didn’t have to bring them back to get rid of here.
But next time I look at a piece of proper furniture and think, that’s a lot to pay, I’ll remember what it took to kill this one — and wish I hadn’t had to.
So I had to take it apart. I had a box of screwdrivers, a big Swiss Army knife and — my big hope — a sledgehammer. Fortunately, as it turned out, I also had pretty much all day.
I started with an ugly pine kitchen cabinet that the charity collectors had also refused. Remove a dozen screws, tap it a couple of times with the hammer and I had a pile of boards ready to load. Easy. Now on to the chair.
Look inside a super-value DFS chair (this offer must end Monday!) and I imagine you’ll find chipboard, machine screws and a few nails. This one was built on a frame of 30mm square oak, clad in hessian, wadding and thick layers of foam, then covered in fabric edged with super-tough piping. It was not built to be dismantled with hand tools. The screws I could reach removed the castors. To get to any more required excavating through the layers of covering to even find them, then persuading them to turn after 32 years of going nowhere. I removed as many as I could but it remained resolute chair-shaped.
We broke for lunch, took the other stuff to the tip and stopped on the way back to buy a saw. Even with this, it took another hour to reduce the thing enough to get it in the car, as I had to work around millions of staples and sharp metal fixing strips, and the layers of wrapping held the joints together even after the timbers were severed.
I should probably have stripped it completely bare, and dumped the bits in timber and scrap metal as appropriate, but West Sussex County Council’s delightful recycling elves were happy to take care of that. They took my dad’s collection of 1990s paints and chemicals too, without blinking; glad I didn’t have to bring them back to get rid of here.
But next time I look at a piece of proper furniture and think, that’s a lot to pay, I’ll remember what it took to kill this one — and wish I hadn’t had to.
