AFTER 13 years in our ‘new’ house we finally decided a few weeks back it was time to put a handrail on the notoriously tricky staircase - a move I’ve resisted ever since the housemate first mooted it.

“It’ll spoil the flow of the curve,” I explained as she raised the topic for the umpteenth time.

“It’ll spoil more than the flow if I go top over tail carrying the breakfast tray and break another arm,” she replied.

Remembering the horrific few weeks when the full responsibilities of looking after both her and the house fell in my lap, I decided to sacrifice the aesthetic in favour of the safe and picked up the phone to our friendly builder, who seems to have spent more time at our house than we have recently.

“Had another party and pulled your bifold doors off again?” He asked recalling his last visit, which was not as wild as he made it sound.

“No. Apparently the housemate risks life and limb with every journey upstairs so we need a handrail,” I replied. “ And my mother and your mother agree with her so I’m outnumbered,” I added, having already been browbeaten by the pair, who were old school friends.

“Can’t argue with those two,” he confirmed.

As he left the house with the tricky job finally completed I dared to raise an issue which had been quietly bothering me for some time.

“Is this a problem?” I asked pointing out a corner of the dining room where the floor had become increasingly bouncy over the past year or so.

“Ummmmm…..yes,” he replied springing up and down like Zebedee. “No floor should really do this.”

“I thought that might be the case,” I said with a grimace.

“And your drinks cabinet shouldn’t really be standing at that angle,” he added. “There’s not much furniture which should look like the leaning tower of Pisa…or the leaning tower of gin in your case!”

“Is it a big problem?” I asked. “What I mean is are we likely to crash through the floor?”

“Fairly likely actually,” he replied retreating to the relative safety of the hall way.

“We’ve got friends coming for dinner next week,” I all but wailed. “Is it safe?”

“How big are they?” he chuckled.

“They’re quite small.”

“You should be ok then…just keep to the more solid side of the room and eat quickly…but maybe not too much,” he laughed picking up his tool bag.

Having braved the horror of imparting the news of the ‘pretty big job’ to the housemate I picked up the phone to The Mother to share the news with her.

“Well, it’ll be a good excuse to have a good old sort out and a spring clean,” she said, adding, “I’ll help you.”

“Thanks for the offer of help but on the whole having the entire floor picked up and all the joists replaced is a pretty dramatic way of Hoovering under the sideboard even for you!” I snapped.

“Oh I don’t know…I’ve seen the dust under your sideboard,” she muttered under her breath.