Any desire to build now out the window

BECK ELEVEN

If someone ever gives you the choice between a slow and painful death and erecting flatpack kitset furniture, choose the death.

I've spent the week putting together a coffee table and a bookcase. Simple, you might think, but I've been following instructions with mixed tenses and no plurals where they should be - which is irritating enough, but the graphic instructions are no better.

I can only imagine the makers are telling me I should not use my completed bookcase as a stepladder, nor should I use the surfaces to set up my P-making operation. Tools for assembly looked to be two screwdrivers and a judge's gavel.

The unopened boxes lay in my lounge for a week before I even opened them. Luckily I was in the company of a five-year-old whose brain is learning to process this complicated world.

She must have sensed how overwhelmed I was because while she was like a pig in shit going through my jewellery box, out of nowhere came this little gem: "Just look at one thing at a time." I can only assume she was talking to me.

So I started with slats C through F, moving quickly to B and A, squeezing glue on to bits of doweling and shoving them as hard as I could into any hole that fit.

Somewhere around Allen Key time, my world caved in. The first screw went in without an argument but the other three wouldn't budge. Something was going to get thrown through a window so I gave up for the evening.

The next night I took a deep breath and began again.

This time two of the screws went in without struggle, but then I dropped Allen Key and the final one wouldn't budge again.

It was a mystery until my logical brain made me realise I had been using the short end of Allen Key which gave me no leverage to move the screws.

I started feeling very proud of myself and over the course of the evening finished the bookcase while simultaneously ridding myself of any ambitions to take on a building apprenticeship.

I stood back and admired my work but the shine had gone; all I could see was surfaces to dust.

The following evening I lured a man home with the promise of dinner and the chance to act manly around tools.

Dan had recently made his own coffee table so I thought my kitset one would be no challenge.

He picked up slat A, saw the picture of doweling and glue, and said: "I don't think we need the glue."

But I was now a seasoned flatpack erector, so I said "no", reclaimed my coffee table ingredients and barked "doweling" at him.

Dan noted that he had been assembling for under a minute and was already demoted to theatre nurse.

I reminded myself that I'd asked for help, relinquished all tools and left him to it.

Half an hour later, Dan screwed one of the table's feet so hard that it split, leading me to think all flatpack furniture needs both a logical mind and a feminine touch.

I'd like to see the graphic instruction for that.

Anyway, we glued the split foot and tied it with the only thing I had available which was a pink ribbon that had come with a recent gift.

Two weeks after buying the bones of my furniture, my bookshelf is ready to collect dust while my coffee table is upside down looking like a staunch supporter of breast cancer.

- © Fairfax NZ News