Our coffee table, flotsam from a live-in girlfriend a few years back, had seen better days. It had originally been rescued from a skip in Angel, and apart from a semi-uniform coat of white gloss applied by said girlfriend, hadn’t seen much love. Already peppered with woodworm tunnels, it was now chipped, stained, and decidedly wobbly since being used as an occasional stepladder or dance podium. If you tried to drag it across the room you’d risk leaving half of it behind. It’s been long-due an overhaul.