Mar 22, 2019: Fill

I think I hate whoever was responsible for the doors in our house before us.

The door we’re currently sorting out is riddled with all sorts of issues. For starters it must have had about seven thousand different handles in its lifetime, judging by screw holes and the holes that have been made for the spindle thingy in the handle to go through. All of which I’m dutifully filling and, in some cases, MacGuyvering a solution to the fact that I don’t want to encroach into the hole where the door mechanism goes.

Basically it’s come card held in place with a screwdriver.

But it shows ingenuity on my part.

The thing that’s really bugging me though is the person who took off the panelling last time. I don’t like them at all.

For some reason, in days of yore, it was the done thing to attach a sheet of plywood or something of that ilk over your door so that you couldn’t see the individual panels. I don’t know why. I assume it’s the same reason that Victorians couldn’t look at table legs. I imagine it awakens urges or something.

Anyway, all the doors in the house have had this treatment at some point. Some we have removed. Others have been removed prior to our time, and we’ve only discovered this when we’ve stripped them – there are holes, or fillings.

Or in the case of the door I’m doing at the moment – annoying nails left in which aren’t quite flush to the wood but don’t stick up enough to bother you unless you’re trying to remove the paint or sand them, in which case they will impede everything.

I have no idea why they didn’t just remove the nails. I mean, having done that after removing one of the panels it is a ball-ache because whoever fastened the panels on wanted to be very, very sure they never just fell off. I can only assume that instead of “oops, I missed one…” and removing it, the previous door botherers have, instead, got angry and snacked at the door with a hammer until it’s more or less gone away.

I’ll be honest. I tried that with it this afternoon just out of frustration at the number of unflush nails that impeded the stripping and so I know are there, but which I could not find for love nor money. I only spotted one because the metal of the nail happened to glint in the whisp of sunshine we had. And then I hit it repeatedly. It didn’t move. But it did may be feel better.

Or it might have been sheer anger at the number of handle holes they discovered.

We can relate to that having found that when we removed a panel in the back bedroom it was actually on there not to reduce the sexiness of the built-in cupboard, but because there was a bit of the cupboard missing and the panel served to hide that. And we didn’t realise until we spent ages taking it off and then swore. A lot.

There are three more doors to sort after this one. Two have been stripped already. There’s just one dark horse, lurking at the top of the stairs with all its secrets hidden between countless layers of paint.

I can’t wait…