And another thing......

Part Fifteen and a bit.

Still in Bloody blighty, despite the best of intentions. I have reached the conclusion that Himself and myself should never again come together where DIY is concerned. In fairness, it’s not the only reason why I am still here, but it plays a significant part in the tale. We have discussed this at great and tortuous length, however I still find myself unable to explain to him why he induces a state of mental and physical paralysis in me. To be honest, I’m not sure I can explain it myself. It goes something like this…

We need to renovate a room, which to me means mostly painting and filling in the more obvious holes. This is complicated by the fact that a certain inhabitant of the household (who has now mercifully moved on) would qualify for the title of ‘Britain’s most incompetent decorator’ (there are no prizes for this accolade… maybe a trophy in the form of an encrusted paintbrush mounted on an equally encrusted tin would be appropriate?). At a push I might disguise the more canyon like cracks, usually found around the door frames (thanks again previous inhabitant and teenagers!) with some caulk. My problem begins with a breakdown in communication when it comes to prep. Himself hates doing all the scrubbing and sanding and filling, I don’t mind it toooo much, but it always seems that Himself is not satisfied with my efforts, and proceeds to spend two out of the three days he was supposed to spend painting redoing my prep. So why did I bother at all? This leads me to be over fastidious, which in this case resulted in me stripping 80% of the downstairs woodwork back to bare wood. As I am one of natures pickers (and squeezers… you know what I mean ladies) I am quite absorbed by this task…. To the point where it took me three or four days.. or maybe more. At this point, Himself starts to bemoan the lack of progress and start making digs about how long it is taking me, while simultaneously boasting about how fast and efficient he himself is. He puts this down to a number of things, including experience. In consequence, the use of the phrase ‘been there, done that, got the tee shirt’ is now a hanging offence in this house.

He is a great one for telling me how much better his efforts are than mine, if I finish a room in a week, he denies this, says it took me several weeks and anyway he took less than a week to do his room because he got dragged off to various DIY outlets (AKA the mouth of Hades) and distracted from applying magnolia to every available surface (including the dog), so therefore he is infinitely superior in every conceivable way…

Speaking of the mouth of Hades… has anyone else ever suffered from ‘bloke in a DIY shop’ syndrome?  In general, the bigger the shop, the worse it gets.

First of all there is THE LIST. This will take all morning to compile and most of the afternoon to find, as it has been placed somewhere that even MI5 couldn’t find if the future of the civilised world depended upon it. If it is not found (to the hunting cry of ‘Oh God, why is nothing ever simple????!!!!!), another one must be compiled. As eating is a profligate waste of time when such urgent matters are in hand, you end up so wired on coffee that you are vibrating. This does nothing good for any psychotic tendencies you may be harbouring and your patience is measured in inverse proportion to the number of mugs you have consumed. Once underway, there will be a conflict about which emporium to visit first. Your bladder is hinting meaningfully (as a result of all that coffee) that it should be the one with the appropriate facilities. He wants to go to the more manly and serious builders supplies. Somehow these ones never have a ladies convenience… So you end up there, wrestling with a giant and unwieldy trolley which could carry a garden shed and half a ton of concrete (it would obviously be wussy to provide one which carries half a dozen cans of paint and a small box of filler). Meanwhile, list in hand, he has wandered off without a word, leaving you to negotiate bickering couples, small children and serious looking blokes in stained overalls, whilst the trolley waywardly attacks them all before taking out a carefully constructed display of ironmongery. It doesn’t help that you are trying to walk with your legs crossed and are faint from hunger.

Of course, now that you are here, the list becomes merely a rough guide as he peruses the shelves, picking up odd and esoteric objects which you have never before encountered, but somehow are suddenly of vital importance. Having loaded the trolley with an assortment of much discussed items (if you are really lucky, he might even get his calculator out to work out the relative coverage of two seemingly identical pots of paint), he will wander off at random, leaving you with two or three competing cans of paint and an oversized trolley. He will continue talking about something of vital importance as he vanishes around a corner and will be most put out that you fail to share his interest in whatever it was by the time you finally catch up with him. Every item is up for discussion, and by the time the relative merits of each possible choice have been visited and revisited, you are seriously considering using the bathroom display for more practical purposes. You are also contemplating murder, and eyeing up that ironmongery display you decimated for potential weapons.

There will always be one item on the list which you fail to find  in the first suppliers, so it makes sense to try the other one on the way home… Once you have completed the 100 metre dash to the toilet (and mislaid him in the process) you spend two minutes looking at decorative objects, at which point he miraculously appears at your shoulder and declares that you are a ‘terrible shopaholic’, before going to spend an hour contemplating power tools (I’m actually a fan of power tools myself, but I don’t regard them as a form of entertainment). Having found the single object you came in for (after an hour and a half and a couple of miles trudging the aisles), you tentatively suggest that a sandwich or something might be a good idea, only to be scornfully informed that there is far too much to get done to be wasting time with afternoon tea (which in this case is actually breakfast).

Inevitably, when you finally arrive home and begin work as darkness falls, it turns out that the one object you really needed somehow failed to make it onto the list (cue refrain: ‘Oh God why is nothing ever simple???).

Feeling rather dispirited, you begin an alternative task, only to be told that there is a lengthy list of previously unrecognised obstacles standing in your way, which make this task either inappropriate or pointless. You get in the car and go to the off licence.

So….

Somehow the renovating remains uncompleted. Following the apocalypse (St Jude’s storm) I have been without electricity for about two days. I didn’t really notice much difference.

I have been further delayed by the new requirement for a dog passport, it will be 21 days before the dog and I can travel. In the meantime we are off to terrorise estate agents in Leeds. If they ask if I am interested in a renovation project I will direct them to the above.