It's been an expensive day, and much as I wish it wasn't, it was all my fault.
Firstly, the kitchen floor is now finished and despite my initial reservations I am pretty happy with it. The tiles are porcelain but hand-finished so all bear individual patterns and now that it is grouted with a nice grey filler it does have the hand-split slate finish that I was looking for, with all the practicality of a modern floor tile.
I like the randomness of the different tile patterns and once the floor in the rest of the upstairs (which will be chestnut) is down, then it should look amazing.
I'd spent the morning cutting wood with the 'Clive' (the chainsaw), which I am now finding easier to start, but which is consuming chain oil faster than petrol. I'd got a builders bag full of logs by the time that Facundo arrived this afternoon, so decided to down tools and join in the conversation in the barn.
Facundo seemed happy with the floor and thought that it would be a good idea to install the wood burning stove, which I had lovingly and carefully brought from England by car, last October. It took three of us to man-handle it from the big house to the barn, and as both Facundo and I had left our instruction manuals at home (mine in English in Taramundi and his in Spanish in Villaboa) we decided to see what parts we thought, fitted where. The typical man solution.
As we'd finally sussed it, I went to move the heavy steel base into place and with a sharp corner caught one of the side pieces of glass on the stove, which immediately smashed!
I swore in my native language first, three or four times, and then for effect in Spanish. Facundo looked shocked and tried to calm me down. I was gutted. All that care and attention and now I needed to source a probably very pricey replacement and get it to Galicia.
I opted not to go back to using the chainsaw for the rest of the day as it looked like 'Mr Clumsy' had taken residence in my body and I didn't want to chance removing a limb while he was in control.