We’re decorating the back bedroom.
Or, for those of you who have read earlier entries, we’re still decorating the back bedroom.
Not still in the sense of we’re still decorating the bathroom. That was a saga that went on for far too long and although it led to an illicit love affair between the human occupants of this house and the shower, it carried a lot of pain and suffering along the way.
We’re still decorating it in as much as we’re doing bits and bats of it at the weekend, or if Carole takes time off work. We’re 50% of the way through the wallpapering, with two hopefully quick walls to go and then that’s done. Then it’s a bit of painting, reattach the doors on the wardrobes and we’re golden. Apart from waiting for the new carpet, the complete lack of a bed and working out the best way to do the curtains.
Otherwise it’s absolutely golden.
The back bedroom has, for the past three years, been Peppa’s room. No matter what other purpose it served – as a spare room, or ironing room or whatever it’s always been Peppa’s room. It was the room we used to segregate her from Pumpkin, it was the room we’d shut her in during the night or when we were at work when she was very little. It’s the room she let that shrew go in that one time and it took me ages to catch it. It’s Peppa’s room.
And, it would appear, Peppa does not like being kept out of it.
Because there’s the pasting table set up in there, rolls of wallpaper and tins of paint, we’re keeping the door shut. So Peppa has basically moved rooms, essentially, with her bed now being down my side of the bed, under the chair. Now, this is quite cute in a sickly sweet way because it’s lovely to be able to wake up and see her snoozing in her little fleecy igloo (plus it means that when she leaves the igloo to come and lie on or in the bed she is so toasty warm – a pleasant change from the ice cold paws). But Peppa still wants to go back into her old room.
We find her just sitting at the door, waiting for it to be opened so she can dash in.
Or, as we try and leave, having completed whatever task it is we’re undertaking she’s waiting outside. Like a particularly stalky Jehovah’s Witness.
And if she makes it past you, she’ll run into the room and find an area that is really hard to extract her from, forcing you to rely on the tried and tested method of taking the lid of a box of treats downstairs in order to remove her from her hidey hole.
But it’s the way she looks at us. The way she’s looking, all wide-eyed and adorable, at us with a quizzical look on her face. Asking us, non-verbally, why we’re ruined her room. It doesn’t smell right, it doesn’t look right and everything’s in the wrong place.
I can only imagine how baffling she’ll find it when she discovers my mother sleeping in there…