We put the floor in the bordello. The first step is to spread the pieces out to aid choosing. Of course, we have no house to spread them in due to having far too much furniture and too many books, so they went on the bed. (Interesting collection of socks there, Anna).
Then Anna held the nailing machine, really just a frame that sets the nails up at 45 degrees, and I belted it. Repeatedly.
Where the nails weren't driven home completely I tapped them in with a nailset.
Curiously, the makers of the floor don't sell it as "Western Whorehouse" but Old Fashioned Oriental. The package promises "A Warmth Atmosphere For Your Feet" (sic) and features people with toe rings. 
There, floor in place, Pride in hand, checking which roads are open. The weather is just atrocious, snow, wind, all that stuff no one needs.
One of the problems of rural living is that storms take out the satellite meaning that one's search for suitable foot jewelry has to be done by dial-up. It's tedious at best.
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