Kevin Page: The downside of downsizing

In terms of important issues facing mankind at present, constructing a gate to keep a dog in would not rate particularly highly but such a situation has dominated events at our new home this week.

We've downsized and the move seems to have taken forever. And then, just when you think there is light at the end of the tunnel you get "jobs".

Now these jobs may be as little as putting up a picture, changing a lightbulb, moving the pots around the new garden (don't get me started on pots!), or installing a new door stop.

Added together they make a list. And on my list is an instruction from She Who Must Be Obeyed to "fix the gate".

It seems the rickety old gate currently in existence (if they advertised it for sale they would say it had "character") is barely clinging to the adjacent fence and needs fixing.

This is particularly so because I'll be at work and Mrs P has an appointment tomorrow and George the dog, who will be left to his own devices for an hour or so, will terrorise our new neighbours if he's able to get out.

Naturally (I'm a bloke after all) I give the gate the quick once over and decide it's fine (read: I'm too busy) and I won't need to drive across town to buy whatever I need to sort it.

Mrs P, reassured with the standard response, "I gave it a thorough going over; it's working perfectly now", I return to my list of jobs and complete the lot.

As I close the rickety old gate I allow myself a wee internal gloat. I am indeed a god among DIYers.

Then the gate breaks.

Luckily I am well versed in crisis management, particularly when there is time pressure.

Which means basically I don't tell Mrs P.

I lay awake that night. Planning my next move. Mrs P is on holiday so she'll be sleeping in. I'll get up early and whip across town and get the hinges and stuff I need.

While she's in the shower I'll quickly get the drill out and replace the hinges. She won't suspect a thing.

All goes to plan until I discover I've got the wrong hinges!

Time is racing now. Mrs P will be coming to ask where I've been all morning and remind me I'm due at work.

Lightbulb moment!! I've got some of the hinges I need. I race to my new shed. Bugger. It's a nightmare.

Boxes of stuff everywhere. And somewhere in the maelstrom are the hinges I know I have.

I have had them years. Waiting for this day. Just in case. Now I can't find them.

There's nothing for it but to race back across town. So I do. I grab the hinges and race through checkout in a blur. Then it's back to the job site.

I get back to discover I've been thrown a lifeline.

Mrs P is on the phone. With a bit of luck it'll be the Boomerang Child in Europe and she'll be tied up for an hour.

I repair the hinges and rehang the gate quicker than it takes for Gordon Ramsay to yell "#!*@!!!" at an underling.

I slide the drill under cover with my foot as Mrs P appears.

"You OK? You look a bit frazzled," she says with a nurse's empathy.

"That was the lady on the phone," she continues. "My appointment has been postponed till next week so I'll be home all day".

- Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to kevin.page@nzme.co.nz