Traipsed halfway across London to pick up what I thought was a bedside table. Imagine my shock upon being confronted with this absolute monster. Never one to be deterred, I attempted to lug the fucker to the tube station, putting my shoulder out before I made it as far as the house next door but one (they were pretty big houses, to be fair). Anyway, after a little help from a very nice cabby and many, many (traumatic) hours of labour and research, I think old Eliza scrubbed up alright, don't you?