I got up this morning, and rather than head straight for the shower so that I would be ready and raring to go if any work came in, I rebelled and took up the steamer with a view to stripping some wallpaper in the bedroom.
Whatever wallpaper is in our bedroom is impervious to anything. You could, I’m almost 100% certain, make a spacesuit out of the wallpaper that has been used in our bedroom and nothing – NOTHING – will get through it. Ever. An astronaut could just chill out in his wallpaper suit, in the depths of space, and the cold, vacuum of emptiness would not bother him in the slightest.
Because it won’t bloody shift.
There’s woodchip – on the fricking ceiling of all places – that is releasing its hold better than the other stuff. And woodchip is known for being an absolute shitbox when it comes to being removed from a surface it has been adhered to.
It’s a dream. A veritable dream. It’s also been painted so many times that it comes off as stiff boards, almost. But it comes off. Which is more than the stuff on the walls does, even with the application of copious amounts of hot water vapour.
You have to sort of peel off the top layer, which exposes numerous layers underneath which will shift – eventually – with enough steam.
But it’s not done with its little tricks. Because this paper is, in places, the same colour as parts of the wall. So you could – purely hypothetically, of course, and not at all something that happened – spend five minutes scraping at a patch of wall with not a jot of paper on it.
I have more to do tomorrow. I feel wiser now, so there’ll be another curve ball to come up against, I’m sure…