I got up early (ish) this morning to make the most of the sunshine. Which already puts me outside my comfort zone. I’m a gamer, I should be inside with the curtains pulled shooting zombies and slowly getting a degenerative bone disease, not outside where vitamin D can get at me.
But there I was.
Ready to paint the fence.
It’s been a long time coming, partly because there hasn’t been a complete fence on one side of the garden for quite some time. The destructive work of the feral children, though, seems to have abated for now, and the fence has been rebuilt.
And we’ve had a lovely black woodstain waiting to go for a while too. We’ve seen other black fences and they look awesome. Ours is currently green and looks less than awesome.
So I started painting.
It did not go well.
The green refuses to die.
The gift of hindsight being the wonderful smug bastard it is, I realise I should have had a practice run at one of the panels in the back garden first before embarking on this project. But hey, I was up early and ready to crack on so couldn’t afford to waste that opportunity.
Now the fence is black where there was bare wood and a dlightly darker green where there was previously green wood.
I’m genuinely gutted. Painting was aborted before I got too far into it, to allow us to regroup and work out what to do. It may be that two coats (or more) solves it.
Or it may be we’re destined to have a fence that resembles a bruise…