A total white-wash!

Dawn and Steve, it is your fault that we ran out of excuses. 

It was going to be impossible for us to paint the bedrooms at the weekend because we were meeting up with you.

We were saying things like “We would love to paint the upstairs but unfortunately we can’t – we are meeting Dawn and Steve.”  And then we had to try not to look smug.

But then you baled on us.  And ever since, our life has been dominated by the ominous rumble of paint rollers on walls and the stink of white spirit. 

For the last week, our home has been a man-trap of vicious exposed carpet gripper and tacky white gloss.

After an hour or so undercoating skirting, I decided to WhatsApp Pascoe.  He was probably as bored as I was, writing up an academic paper.  But no, he and his pals, Caroline and Ian, had just completed the Yorkshire Three Peaks Challenge on unicycles.  Not only that, but they had then discovered a bluebell wood and a magical cave from which ran a spring.

The following morning, I texted Carenza – “Thought you might enjoy a chat while you trudge to work.”

“Not trudging today, Mum.  I’m on holiday in Seville with my girlfriends.”

So, Dawn and Steve, we are the only ones having a bad time.  And it is all your fault.

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.