Many years ago, I decided that the tacky-looking fitted white melamine wardrobe in my bedroom had to go. So, I pulled out a few of the boards before turning in.

The wardrobe, deprived of some vital supporting component, steadily sagged overnight, making deadful creaking noises, before finally collapsing before dawn, having kept me awake all night.

When I had carried the debris out, I then discovered that the room's carpet did not continue under the fitted wardrobe's base, but now ended two feet from one wall. So, it too had to go. When eventually I manoeuvered twenty feet and half a ton of worn carpet outside, I was confronted with bare floorboards, ill-treated with paint and other stains.

I decided to sand down and varnish the boards. I hired an industrial sander. At the place where I hired it, I was recommended to seal all doors, otherwise the dust would keep coating the rest of the house for weeks. I nailed dust sheets to the door frame, making an impenetrable seal. Then I realised that I had to go somewhere ...

Several sanding bands and a case of pneumoconiosis later, I started covering the floor with a tin of yacht varnish. With about four square feet to go, the tin ran out. That particular brand and make of varnish was no longer manufactured. I bought what looked like a similar varnish. The difference in shade made it look for years until all the floor weathered, as if I had an oil slick in the middle of the room.

My mother visited. She said, "Why don't you have a fitted wardrobe and a nice carpet? I'm sure they would improve the bedroom." Is provocation a legal defence in cases of matricide?