It seemed like a good idea before Christmas when I decided to purchase a state of the art hydrating machine designed, according to the sales blurb, to cleanse and humidify the air in our home. After much research I took the plunge in the hope it would ease the allergies which regularly plague the housemate causing sniffing and sneezing fits which shake the house with their sonic boom beating volume.

“Where are we going to put it?” she asked peering at he box dubiously as she peeled back my immaculate wrapping on Christmas morning.

“That’s not really the important point,” I replied. “Read what it says. It’s supposed to alleviate all sorts of issues from hay fever to snoring. And you can put essential oils in it to keep you calm and help you sleep,” I added, somewhat unnecessarily as the housemate is notorious for her ability to nod off mid sentence.

“It can just go in the corner,” I suggested seeing she was less than convinced by the blurb on the box.

“It says it can’t go in a corner. The mist has to be able to circulate freely,” she replied studying the instruction manual. “You have to clean it every day and give it a deep clean every three days,” she added with her enthusiasm waning with every page she turned.

“It’ll be worth it if it helps your sinus problems,” I pointed out.

Once the festive season was over and the house restored to a state of post-decoration normality I posed a potential solution to the location dilemma.

“If we get a little chest of drawers it can sit quite happily on top of that without being in a corner,” I said, showing her an ideal piece of furniture I’d spotted online.

“If you think so,” came the reply - which is housemate-speak for ‘I’ll go along with you but if this all goes horribly wrong you’ll only have yourself to blame!’

Several days later the chest of drawers was delivered - in more pieces than I have ever seen squeezed into a tiny box.

“We’ve assembled loads of things. It can’t be any harder than the stuff we’ve bought for the garden,” I said gazing at the pieces of wood and metal laid out on the floor.

“Ring your sister. She’s good at things like this,” said the housemate turning the instruction sheet over in the hands helplessly.

“I will not ring my sister. I can do this,” I replied.

Over Sunday dinner at The Mother’s I recounted the tale, extolling the virtues of the new humidifier which has done wonders for the housemate’s sinuses.

“Did you get the set of drawers together?” asked my sister. “I’d have popped over and helped if you’d asked.”

“I did,” I replied proudly.

“Only it’s not a chest of drawers now. It’s an open fronted cupboard with a handle on the top to hide a screw hole we couldn’t work out what we were supposed to screw into it,” said the housemate rolling her well hydrated eyes.

“We had to take a huge bag of left over wood to the tip on the weekend. I’ve made her sign a legally binding document to promise that if we ever buy any more furniture it will not come flat packed. I can’t put up with the stress of any more DIY” she added glaring at me.