The curious incident of the piano in the kitchen

My son has a piano in his kitchen. Posh, eh? No. Not posh at all, and it's in the way and his wife is not pleased.

The piano, which belonged to a deceased relative, was delivered by a removal firm ten days ago. I had to pay for this, up front. Fair enough. But the men refused to take the piano downstairs to the living room, and dumped it in the kitchen. Where it remains. It is not a big piano. It is quite small. But it is heavy. My son can't move it on his own, and his wife is petite; ie not piano moving material.

I have now phoned several times and spoken to lovely Clare in the office (Clare and I are getting to know each other quite well). But of course, she only pass on messages. I have emailed the boss twice. No response. I have left a message for the ombudsman (don't you just love that word?) and hope to get advice from him.

Meanwhile, I am very cross indeed, my daughter-in-law is becoming .....restive? And my son?

As I said at the beginning of this post ( are you still awake?): my son has a piano in his kitchen.