Sofa, So Good - Why I Love My 2-Seater

Where 'Sit' Happens!

Feb 21, 2025

I waved goodbye to our electric oven this week. It chose to pack up (stop me if I’m getting too technical) on Christmas Eve - just as I was waiting for the Yorkshires to rise. Not ideal, but I don’t hold a grudge. After weeks of trying (and failing) to fix it, we admitted defeat and bought a new one.

I know what you’re thinking. What’s with this inane nonsense? Has she finally lost the plot? Well, yes and no.

You see, while an oven is clearly an inanimate object - no different from a chair, a kettle, or a sideboard - I still waved it goodbye as it headed for the tip. And when its shiny replacement (complete with built-in air fryer) arrived a few days later, I felt vaguely disloyal.

Does that make me weird? Maybe.

But I get attached to pretty much everything, and that old oven was my kitchen sidekick for eight happy years. It boiled countless pots of water, turned out decent roast dinners, and - crucially, with three sugar-mad kids in the house - baked multiple cakes. It was also a vast improvement on the cooker that came before it, which had only two settings: ‘off’ or ‘hotter than the centre of the sun’ and was, we believe, POSSESSED BY THE DEVIL.

But as useful as our trusty old appliance was, it’s not my favourite ‘child.’ That honour goes to… this tatty green two-seater sofa.

Not much to look at, right? But it’s been a part of my life since 2008, when I bought the house it came with. My 'rescue sofa' was in excellent condition, fit the room perfectly, and responded well to a touch of Scotchgard1. More importantly, it was incredibly comfortable, with deep seat cushions and just the right length for me to stretch out while watching the telly-box.

When I was made redundant, shortly after buying the place, this sofa took my weight, my worries, and gave me a place to rest while figuring out my next move. It was a source of comfort to others too, notably my puppy - a Cavalier King Charles called Ruby, who quickly decided that “not on the furniture” was just a daft rule made up for other dogs. This sofa absorbed my despair after returning from numerous hospital visits when my father was terminally ill, and was a source of temptation, often luring me in for a spot of daytime telly.

It’s been a bed to friends after boozy nights out, and a place to just sit and watch the world go by. I’ve sunken into these cushions, glass of wine in hand, and listened to my much-missed friend, a professional musician, practise her trumpet next-door. It was where I’d wait for texts that never came, made calls ending in tears, and had rows that broke relationships.

But my sofa’s biggest achievement was escaping unscathed, one cold snowy Christmas, when a pipe burst in my loft, destroying rooms and much of my house. For a year it sat dormant, gathering dust, while the place was repaired.

When, sometime after, the container came for the furniture that would be shipped to Australia, there was no question about it - my green sofa was coming too. Where I went, it went.

And so, after six weeks at sea, it arrived and was a welcome addition to the home. Granted, it was now looking a bit worn, a bit faded, but it would soon have a new lease of life, as kids squeezed onto it to watch TV and play devices. Two fluffy beasts known as Digby and Fudge claimed ownership too, with zero regard for the hair left behind.

No matter how alien everything looked in this new country, my green sofa was a little piece of home. But it wasn’t done travelling yet.

Proving to be the Judith Chalmers2 of the furniture world, after eighteen months, it accompanied us when we moved up the mountain, and quickly found its place in our rainforest abode. But while strategically placed blankets and throws hid marks, stains and muddy paw prints, it couldn’t do much about the stale doggy smells.

So it got professionally cleaned, and thus continued to sit amongst us, a silent witness to nights in, parties, laughter and tears. It’s where naps have been had, feet have been stroked, and where questions were raised over why I tended to pick the most inappropriate films for the kids to watch. (Single White Female being the all-time worst, if you’re interested.)

Children watching something X-rated. Probably.

As the kids grew up and eventually moved out, there was more space, but the sofa remained a steadfast support. It was the place I lay one night, comforting our dear sick dog, Digby, knowing that when the sun rose in the sky, my husband and I would be calling the vet to arrange he be peacefully put to sleep. In the year that followed, we squeezed alongside his now-departed brother Fudge, a dog with no concept of personal space.

Soon I’ll be leaving my 2-seater behind as we return to England for an extended period. In our absence, my stepson and his girlfriend will take charge of the house. I’m not sure how this beloved sofa will feel about making room for a pool table, I guess it will adapt to its new environment, much in the same way I did.

I can only hope that when I return, it hasn’t been completely overtaken by snack crumbs, lost coins and wayward…. socks. But knowing my sofa, it’ll be fine - after all, it’s survived much worse.

Thanks to those who read and enjoyed my last piece, below. Sounds like there are a lot of ~~nutters~~ thrill seekers out there!