Wednesday 11th April – This year’s scheduled plan for domestic decoration thankfully concluded yesterday evening.
Following a two day makeover which included rendering the walls with Dulux Natural Carico emulsion, in addition to glossing the woodwork, the master bedroom stands rejuvenated. It’s tired paintwork re-invigorated by two matt coatings and the application of chaste white gloss to skirting and doors.
The third room to receive Gary Strachan decorative TLC in around a month, this chamber has the honour of receiving my final domestic paintjob of 2018. Bearing the glory of a Pointless TV show trophy, it’s a inauspicious accolade for the room, but at least it now possesses a more aesthetically pleasing plumage.
With forecasts of meteorological improvements commencing next week, my work efforts for the foreseeable months transfer to maintaining front and rear gardens.
Recent days of torrential rain have drenched my lawns/borders, creating a small moat around this Englishman’s castle. Consequently, growth wise, mon jardin is around three weeks behind schedule. With a family of ducks and the postman proving the moat is passable, my archers remain on high alert for intruders……. They also have orders to supply the meat for my evening cuisine of duck a l’orange.
The fact the horticultural cycle is weeks behind has been exacerbated by recent bitingly cold temperatures further delaying plant growth – Not to mention fuel my reticence at donning speedos in readiness for a paddle in the moat.
The garden is a big passion of my wife Karen. She spends hours every year in her scruffs and gardening gloves watching me mow the lawn, hoe the borders and tend to the ever evolving flora and fauna. Actually, that’s being unfair on my wee spouse who often offers to help…… Although, sadly not from a horticultural aspect, moreover with making the cup of tea I brew during my breaks from gardening.
I jest, though, my missus is always grateful for my maintenance efforts both inside and out of our residential domain. For instance, yesterday evening while showing her the newly decorated chamber, she overtly fought her emotions while informing me “You’ve missed a bit!”
If truth be told, I’m being terribly unfair to Karen who often displays gratitude. After all, appreciation is her middle name. Unfortunately, though, she has other middle monikers of ‘No’ and ‘Flaming’ prefixing ‘Appreciation’.
For the purposes of lightening the atmos of a narrative about decorating, I’m mischievously painting my spouse as workshy – A trait that in reality is alien to my betrothed. In fact she’s very hands on…… Just ask my throat which regularly gets squeezed following some smart ass jibe or other. Actually, it won’t be able to answer so you’ll have to take my word for it!
Anyhow, it’s a heart-warming feeling knowing that for the next twelve months or so my paint brushes/rollers will be out of sight and out of mind.
For the remainder of the year taking on the mantle of itinerant mistresses entrenched in my subconscious. Patiently awaiting spring 2019’s arrival when they’ll triumphantly return to feast on the fatted calf, after aiding me emulsion the hallway.
Following my fictional tongue-in-cheek quips about my wife’s work ethic, I’d like to put it on record that she offered to and undertook the cleaning of my paint brushes post-decoration. A boring, time consuming task, I was appreciative when Karen volunteered for the chore.
Witnessing her efforts were a real eye opener. For one thing, I’d never priory seen paint brushes cleaned by cutting off their paint covered bristles. I’m unsure if the missus was mistakenly thinking the bristles grow back akin to animal hair, but I somehow doubt quirkiness or naivety on that scale was a motivation for the eccentric act.
Instead I guess Karen’s destructive cleaning strategy was based on the fact the paint applicators had seen better days and merely needed replacing…… That, though, still doesn’t explain why she didn’t bin them with the bristles intact!
2 kids who've flown the nest, 1 wife whose flown with Jet2. Born at a young age in 1960's Leeds, the author became interested in the literary life when his wife bought him a dog. Having an allergy to dogs, he swapped it for a typewriter. Being unable to train the typewriter to retrieve tennis balls, he reluctantly turned to writing...... Website - www.writesaidfred.org