This morning after coffee when I went to inspect my decimated family room, there were (no surprise) still linoleum tiles to remove. More than half the floor was still covered. One can hope for elves, right?
I spent enough time yesterday that removing the tiles turned out to be the lesser of the evil things I had o remove: the really nasty things were the (I don't know the technical name for them) strips of wood with sharp things sticking up that they use to attach the carpets. These strips are nailed into the concrete every four or five inches, extremely tightly.
- the big long screwdriver which I try very hard to insert between the wood and the linoleum, close my eyes tightly (I really don't need flying splinters piercing my eyeballs and those protective eyewear things are (a) uncomfortable and (b) not helpful to vision when you are a person of a certain age bemoaning the age-related deterioration of eyesight) as I twist to either break the wood or pop a nail or both (usually the former only)
- the pliers are used to grab the evil nail-studded wood to transfer it from the floor to the trashcan (because at this point in my life I'm well aware of how clumsy I am and fate should not be tempted by bringing my fingers too close to sharp tetanus-bearing pointy things)
- finally the back of the hammer is used to lever the nail out of the concrete
Still though, I have a freshly-painted living room with shiny new switch-plate covers, and all that remains (apart from re-hanging that last shade that I had to remove in order to paint) is, y'know, the new floor.
You can see a tile over against the wall. Not clearly, but there it is anyway.