
J waited until the last moment, and then pounced like a vulture (do vultures pounce?) in search of a cupboard or desk of some sort for the bedroom. I don't pretend to understand these things. Something for the nicknacks. A frippery. I just stuff my socks and jocks into the Ikea wardrobe, and pile my unread books on the floor. Which gets me into lots of trouble.

I fear this could be our next source of furniture though.

Kevin Rudd's idea of "recycling".
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