Cutting in

We are lucky enough to have a tiny en suite.  But for nearly four years, I have been wilfully ignoring the fact that the shower leaks.

Finally a nice plumber has fixed the problem.  And now the en suite needs redecorating.

Not only that, but we had dragged our clothing and bedding into Carenza’s old room and covered our bedroom furniture with dust sheets, meaning it made sense to go on and decorate the whole bedroom.

Decorating was something we used to do together – “Me Ceiling, you Walls.  You Roller, me Cutting In.”

My back isn’t good for ceiling any more.  As the substantially shorter partner, I’m not sure why I was doing it anyway. 

At least I could still do the cutting in.  I used to be the Queen of Cutting In, making straight lines without the need for masking tape.

But something has changed.  My wobbly brush strokes trespassed on skirting boards and plug sockets.

Is it some refraction or parallax caused by my varifocals?  Perhaps it is the lumpy brush I am using? 

It can’t possibly be, can it, simply that I have become impatient and grumpy in my old age?

Nope.  Think I shall blame the fact that we are cutting right down on alcohol for Lent.  I must have been distracted by the fact that the white spirit was actually beginning to smell delicious.