Who says size doesn't matter? Not The Mother, that's for sure.

When she told me she was looking for a big wardrobe for her bedroom I knew she meant something pretty substantial, something capable of accommodating a small army for instance.

She knew what she wanted all right. As well as being big, it should be painted white, preferably with gold twiddly bits to match her dressing table. All slightly Elton John-ish if you ask me.

I didn't think she had a hope in hell of finding her heart's delight but I was wrong. She discovered a wardrobe that almost exactly matched her specifications in the second-hand furniture store at the end of the road.

I measured its vital statistics and the alcove where it would stand and found it would certainly fit, with a couple of inches to spare (we still think in inches in our house).

On Friday evening it arrived, along with two big, strong men, but it didn't go directly to The Mother's bedroom. No, it went into the bathroom . . . eventually.

I thought it most sensible to let The Mother organise both Men and Wardrobe while I stayed in the living room and calmed her dog, an animal deeply involved with matters of territory and intrusion.

Minutes went by and through the living room door I heard sounds of stress and strain - gasping, grunting sounds highlighted by the occasional shout of "Whoa!"

I continued to maintain a low profile until I heard The Mother's call to arms: "Vanoraaaa! Vanoraaaa!"

Shutting the dog in the kitchen, I went into the hallway. Halfway up the stairs was the wardrobe, looking pretty stuck. Peering over the banisters was The Mother with her chaps.

"We can't get the wardrobe round the landing at the top of the stairs because your hallway's too narrow," she said. Note "your hallway's too narrow" not "my wardrobe's too big".

Then she added: "We need another person to help, the wardrobe's going to have to be lifted over the banisters. Can you . . ."

At this point the man in charge took charge. "She won't do," he said looking at me. "I need a tall, strong man."

Oh, don't we all.

Unfortunately, as tall strong men seemed to be in short supply (sorry!), it was thought best to wait until the following morning when the man in charge said he knew exactly where to find a tall fellow or two.

It was decided the bathroom would be the wardrobe's resting place for the night. Big and solid, it almost filled the room and had the alarming appearance of a permanent fixture about it.

"What if they forget to come back in the morning, or they can't find a tall enough man?" I fretted.

My fears were groundless. On Saturday morning the original two big men plus a strapping third, possibly press-ganged off the street, arrived. I went out, leaving The Mother to handle the situation.

When I returned, the muscular trio had gone and the wardrobe was in situ.

The Mother was triumphantly filling it with her clothes.

"What I need now is a Welsh dresser for all my other bits and pieces," she said.

"A big one?" I asked wearily.

"And why not?" she replied.

Think I'll move out tomorrow . . . give her more space.