There are many important decisions in life – as a singleton, a spouse or a parent. Wedding venues, guests lists, baby names, schools all
set to tax even the most confident and intelligent brain. But there is one decision that has sent me into free fall on more than one
occasion – choosing a sofa. You could argue that it is merely for sitting on and watching telly but no – it plays such a big party in the
family dynamics and should be approached with care. Our sofa history as a couple is complex. The first was already broken in when I arrived
at my now husbands house. As a single man he had gratefully accepted the donation of a large suite without thought for aesthetics. Dark
green velvet with contrasting beading, suspect stains from pizza toppings and kebab sauce and sagging cushions from many Friday and
Saturday nights when he hadn’t made it up the stairs. I tried to revive its ‘va va voom’ with scatter cushions and a casually placed throw
but after we lost a couple of naan breads down the back it was decided that the sofa should be let out to grass on the hills with other
retired couch wear. The new sofa was ordered on a return trip from Leeds when we naively believed the sale really did ‘end Sunday’. Perhaps
a hasty decision but no going back. A blue and cream chequered, low slung three seater – for cosy nights together and two equally
impractical arm chairs were ordered. My suspicions were aroused when our new furniture was deliverd by crane and we almost lost an
interior wall. Its frame made of the hardest wood known to man and its four foot square cushions not plump and sumptuious as in the show
room but offering two settings 1) stuffed solid or 2) flat. Plumping it of a morning took twenty minutes and the strength of ten men. Less
of a snuggle and more of a wrestle! When we moved house the removal firm treated it as cargo and charged extra. It had to go. The
replacement came in the shape of two two seater suites. The days of snuggling up together were fading so a well upholstered space for each
of us was the preferred choice. And don’t forget the matching ‘poofe’ (no not a foot stool you understand – a poofe!) These were in a deep
red and lasted through the birth of both children. I slept on one every night for three weeks when our first child arrived. My feet hung
off the bottom and once wedged it was almost impossible to rise without assistance. I can clearly remember the first night baby slept for 4
hours solid. Husband came down and I was jubilant that the baby hadn’t cried ALL night. “Yes but you’re still on the sofa” came the
slightly grumpy reply. Had I saved a cushion from our previous sofa I could have happily thrown it at him.
So now, married for 19 years, children grown and cosy nights on the sofa a thing of the past, we are on to the recliners. ‘His’ is a single
chair, two tone ‘cappucino’ leather and not a cushion in sight. Mine – a two seater sofa that I share with either the dogs or the children
depending upon who arrives first. Initially the reclining motion was a smooth steady affair that allow you to gently lay back into a
restful position. Now the mechanism is warn, the foot rest comes out at such force it has been known to catapult an unsuspecting Jack
Russell into the French doors and the back rest disappears with such speed you could be forgiven for thinking you’d been dropped off a
cliff! So whilst the over enthusiastic, impossibly shiny girl on the telly tells me in her oh so annoying voice to ‘order now for great
January reductions’ trebouget sofa’s days are numbered and I shall once more face the agony of decision!