The new coffee table was an event. It was meant to be a prized relic. It was adamantly yet futilely historic in its design. It seemed like a BBC Pride and Prejudice coffee table. It was forbidden for anyone to place a cup on this table, and it was considered rude and punishable to place a magazine or Blu-Ray case on it too. You weren’t allowed to do anything with this coffee table, because it was meant to just be there—it was not allowed to have a function. It existed to remain the way it was forever.

There were several conflicts surrounding the coffee table. Dad insisted that the children give it a wide berth because he didn’t want it marked. Dad and Mum would lie legs-to-shoulders on the couch in honour of the coffee table. A foot on its surface was, for the kids, a declaration of war, and for the parents, an abasement of principle.