An Angel at My Table

It's a long story. And a big table. I like to eat, and I like to cook, and for years we've had the same little table that really only sits four comfortably. It's a lovely table - Scandinavian, from the 60s - and Andrew bought it for me spontaneously one day when we lived in Bondi, and it's the only dining table the kids have ever known. But dinner parties are squishy in our house, and homework is beginning to sprawl, so the time had come. I dithered and pondered and weighed up options (all very unlike me) and went here and there, and also somewhere else. Finally, I ordered my French Oak dining table, made from 200-year old timber, in October. I was told 6-8 weeks till delivery. I spend the first 6 of them worrying about 1. spending so much money 2. so many air miles 3. everything. So by the time it eventually arrived, on Wednesday, I was almost bored with the whole idea.

But I really love my table. It is pre-loved in every sense, so I will never care if anyone spills, burns, smears or tips anything on it. It extends to seat 12. Wow. If only we had more than four chairs.

I would take a photo, but it is covered in stuff. That's the other thing, it's a really excellent size for wrapping Christmas presents on.