Paint

I have been painting.

I have used up almost all of an enormous tin of paint.

I am wearing quite a bit of it.

The day started with something of a domestic when I realised that Mark had taken the six foot long straight-edge to work in Barrow and left it behind.

I wanted to use this for marking the lines for the stripes on the walls.

I knew perfectly well that I would not have time to do this if I were to get all of the ceiling and the tops of the walls painted, but I might have, and certainly this was the bit of the painting that I was looking forward to. This is the creative bit, where I stick the pencil behind my ear and stand back and imagine how the walls would look if I did different things to them.

I like this bit.

I don’t like the actual doing painting bit nearly as much.

Hence I was cross with Mark.

He rang from work after a while to tell me that Number One Son-In-Law was using the straight edge in any case, and to suggest that perhaps I should purchase a new one.

I declined, grumpily.

I did not decline because I did not want a new straight-edge but because by then I was covered in paint and weary of new living rooms.

I had borrowed the Peppers’ step ladder, but of course the roller tray did not fit on the top of it, so I had to keep running up and down the steps to put paint on the roller.

After a while I stuck the roller on the end of the broom handle, which worked but would not then come off.

I became very painty indeed during the struggle.

I painted the ceiling twice, apart from some edge bits that I missed and which now need another coat. I painted out all of the bright orange in the living room and the last bits in the kitchen. We will not need that now that we are having blue and yellow stripes. I like orange but do not think that it would look nice with blue and yellow walls and a pink sofa. Certainly it did not look very nice the time when I mistakenly paired it with lavender.

We do not have stripes of any colour yet, firstly because of the absence of straight-edge, and secondly because the paint is all in the cupboard under the stairs.

I could not get into this today.

We have built a new cupboard and chest-of-drawers in front of the door leading in to it, and it is no longer accessible.

When Mark came home he sawed a hole in the side of the stairs. He had to get the Christmas decorations out before we could get to the paint. I have not got to the paint yet, so the Christmas decorations are sitting unseasonably on the stairs. I am not sure if there is any point in putting them back, in my current mood I would not care if I tripped over them until December.

In between painting I cooked an oven full of sausages and some gammon for Mark’s sandwiches and pegged the washing on the line. I was very tempted to go and shirk upstairs writing more letters to taxi companies but I refrained. I was pleased with myself about this.

In the end it was done, apart from the missed bits. I was glad about this, because I am fed up of being stuck inside and missing the sunshine, especially when I have only got dull things to do.

I washed out the paint roller and came to work.

Washing paint rollers is one of those things that steals unexpectedly huge chunks of your life right out from under your nose.

I am never sure how long you are supposed to spend on washing them, because obviously no matter how long you do spend, they never actually come clean. The thing is to decide how much leftover paint you can actually get away with before it spoils whatever you paint next, long after you have forgotten all about it.

This made a mess in the sink as well.

I cleaned it up.

I was not sorry to come to work.