I don’t think it’s any particular secret that Carole and I are crap at DIY.
I don’t mind the odd project, or the odd fixing of something. That’s all well and good. But big things and decorating can bring us to the brink of despair. Or just plain old breaking up. Or possibly killing each other.
Our bathroom, for example, was stripped for several years before we got in the World’s Biggest Plumbing Swindler to take our money and provide us with stuff that was way cheaper and not what we ordered. And to fuck us about for three months while he tried to find someone who could repair a cracked pipe. Amongst other things.
And, if I’m honest, the experience with Matthew (Shuttleworth, if you want to keep an eye out for the gitwizard) has kind of taken me even further away from “getting a man in” than I was before. It’s always been an alien concept for me because me dad did everything, and then for the first “man in” to be the shyster plumber… well, it ruined it a bit.
Our internal doors have been another issue that has bugged Carole for ages.
We started to strip them but, bugger me, it’s a boring job and we just never finished them So they have been half wood-half paint for way too long. But recently, a renewed sense of pride has befallen us and we’ve finally taken the bull by the horns and considered getting new doors but then ending up finally finishing off stripping the old ones.
And Carole’s weekend – for I was at work – was to be spent sanding and prepping the first one.
Sanding went beautifully. The door is as smooth a baby’s bottom. Assuming that the baby in question is made from wood.
Prepping, though, not so much.
It was to be undercoat weekend. A nice undercoat and then a couple of coats of white and we’d be in business. The doors would look spiffing, and would – sort of – go with the bookcases. Everything would be hunky dory.
The undercoat we’ve got, though, is for use under dark colours.
It’s from when we first considered doing the doors and they were going to be all sorts of dark plummy colours.
We’re not doing that anymore, though.
I mean, bloody hell. The best laid plans of mice and men and all that. You actually settle down to doing stuff and everything conspires against you.
And you only go to B&Q on a weekend if you’re absolutely mental.
Next weekend, though…
You mark my words.