Not being left on the shelf

The boyfriend and I have been a couple for almost ten years now. We've seen our relationship outlast those of most of our peers and whilst most of the times have been good, we've weathered a few storms along the way. In all of our time together I don't think anyone has ever asked me why I love him or what I see in him that's special (well, it would be a bit rude of them to ask, I suppose). If they did, two things spring to mind straight away: he loves books the way I do, reading ferociously and enjoying spending many hours in libraries and bookshops, and he's enthusiastic about things. When he develops a passion for something, he'll devote all his energy to it and work to see any related projects through to the bitter end. Yesterday he demonstrated both of these traits by putting up some shelves.

He went into town before I was even up and dressed yesterday morning and bought a hammer drill. The drill needed to be charged up for three hours before he could use it, which annoyed him a great deal. He was determined to get drilling as soon as he could. His toolbox was primed and ready for action. His spirit level was out. The shelving board was sawn to the right length and the position of the brackets was accurately measured out. When the drill was charged, he drilled like no man has ever drilled before. Soon he'd moved on to screwing up the shelf brackets, taking advantage of the ability of the drill to be a power screwdriver (he was fast becoming very attached to his tool). In no time at all we had six shelves in the alcoves either side of the chimney breast in our back bedroom (known to the estate agents as "bedroom two" and hopefully soon to be come a "study/dining room"). Even though he had been working like a demon all day, he seemed to have reserved the bulk of his energy for the next part of the process - sorting and shelving all of our books. Apart from a brief break to watch the rugby, he spent all evening categorising books and deciding where to put them. He agonised about the fine line between social science and philosophy. I got angry with him for classifying one of my military history books as fiction. At one point I casually remarked that the room looked like a branch of Waterstones and he came over all misty eyed, saying that was the nicest thing I'd ever said to him. When he'd finally finished filling half the shelves, put up some shelf lighting to illuminate the books and hung a picture on the wall I've got to admit that the room did look nice and he seemed pleased with himself. The rest of the books could wait. We both went to bed happy.

Half an hour later, as we drifted peacefully off to sleep, we heard a low rumble followed by protracted thudding, crashing and banging. The boyfriend was initially confused and sleepy, but it eventually dawned on him that there had been an incident in his new little library world. He went to investigate and found that the middle shelf (biography, history and reference books) had ripped itself away from the wall. There were books everywhere. Some had lodged themselves in a comedy manner behind the radiator. He was upset, but philosophical - it was only one shelf, one bracket in fact, that had come adrift and he could clear up in the morning. He returned to bed. At around 4a.m. we were both deeply asleep when the literary apocalypse began again in the room next door. This time it was louder. More books went flying, along with metal bookends. Philosophy and social science were now making a break for freedom. Only one book-laden shelf now remained standing, and the boyfriend took the sensible decision to take down the fiction section before it found its own way to the floor, taking chunks of plaster and paint with it.

The gentleman in the flat downstairs was very polite about it all. He said he didn't realise that the noises were coming from our flat. It must have sounded like the world was ending in his flat, though, because it sounded bad enough in ours. We apologised and bought him a bottle of wine (people in our building exchange bottles of wine a lot - it's all very civilised here). The boyfriend was a little upset that his shelving went wrong, but he's not been put off d.i.y. for life. In fact he's in our garden right now, with a friend and his trusty drill, putting up a shed. Next weekend he wants to try and shelve again, using more brackets this time. He doesn't give up easily - another reason why I still love him after all these years.