My space

One of my little pleasures is to sit at our kitchen table (well its in the dining room actually, next to the kitchen and isn't smart enough to be a dining room one), with a cup of tea or coffee in a pretty cup and have half an hour flicking through Country Living, gazing out of the window listening to the radio. My littlest man had a lovely long snooze after lunch today so I got to indulge myself with this month's edition, which is very gorgeous indeed.

But soon I will be abandoning my post for a new corner to lose myself in. What do you think of this as a spot?

I can't believe I own this beautiful little thing (ok the colour is grim but that will change).

Our conservatory is a lovely room, looking out over the garden and the hills and runs off the dining room and the kitchen. Its a bit chilly to spend too much time in there just yet but when it warms up I think we'll be in there lots with toys, plants, pretty things, music and books.

The hunt for a small, bargain sofa hadn't been very fruitful until Monday when someone was definitely smiling on me. I have a little dream in my head of coming in from my flower-filled garden on a lovely summer evening, with a cup of tea, my scrapbooks or a nice book, and relaxing on my pretty sofa and this is where I'll be.

Someone's cat's been having fun!

The best part of the story though is that I got it from the dreaded Oxfam shop that has so let me down recently. At first I thought it was a modern two-seater with dusty covers, but after coercing the shop assistant into moving the 27 suitcases displayed on it, we discovered it was a beautiful vintage style sofa with a drop down end (does this make it a day bed or a chaise lounge?) and dainty legs.

There was no ticket but I already knew it was coming home with me so the furniture manager was duly called.

"Very sorry madam we're not allowed to sell it as its been recovered at some point and the foam probably isn't up to modern H&S standards"

GULP - cue a weak moan of "oh" from yours truly.

"But if you're happy to acknowledge that, you'd be doing us a favour if you took it away, in return for a donation. I just can't give you a receipt."

GULP - cue a high-pitched, full of joy "oh" from yours truly.

Scanning the shop I spied another vintage sofa for £85, (two in a week and none for months, honestly!), and began to panic that I'd gone and got myself into one of my regular, very English dilemmas, where I've engaged a buy/sell conversation that I probably can't afford but am too humiliated to try and wriggle out of. Is it me?

Nothing for it, go for it I must...

"Errm, how much were you looking for," (desperately scrabbling around my brain, trying to remember what state the bank account is in and how much in penalty charges I'm setting us up for).

"Would £20 be ok?"

THUD - me hitting the floor.

Can you believe this divine thing is mine for £20! I'm absolutely in love with it and I've spent too much time already just staring at it.

For the first time, Woody thinks I'm a thrifting genius, "looks really nice there doesn't it". (I nearly fell on the floor again.)

I've broached the recovering subject but typically he couldn't see anything wrong with it. I'm torturing myself over whether to cover it in a pretty floral fabric or play it safe and stay neutral so that I can swap cushion covers with the seasons (flowers in the summer, checks and stripes in the winter). What do you think?

New brakes and an exhaust on the car have cleaned us out again so I just need to Google - how to re-upholster a vintage sofa because I've got completely no idea! Wish me luck, with enough I'll hopefully be sitting on it before the London Olympics start!