Jack rocked it! He was amazing and sounded fantastic. As well as playing his solo stuff, he also played some White Stripes and Raconteurs so I was well happy. My cake turned out fine and it went down a treat with my English group. However, I am not going to put myself under this sort of pressure again, and will just take in a packet of biscuits next time. Anyway, now that I have rediscovered my indie rock chick credentials, it will be vodka and fags for all instead.
The girls have also gone back to school, and I realise that half the first term has passed by without me achieving anything. I am no fitter, wiser or contented than when I first started writing this blog. I really need to get a grip on my life and sort myself out. What I need is a project to throw myself into. As I lay in my slightly-tired-around-the-edges bedroom this morning, looking around for inspiration, it suddenly came to me that I was staring at the perfect project. I could redecorate our room! This got me excited and I started to mentally plan what I’d like to do. My idea is not only to give the room a lick of paint but to also paint our furniture and reupholster the stool and headboard. I’ve not been so animated for months!
There are just two obstacles in me carrying out my plan. The first is my husband. My husband is quite good at DIY but absolutely hates doing it. He is also extremely busy at work. I did bring up the subject of decorating a couple of months ago and he was less than enthusiastic about it. In fact his response was, ‘but I did that not so long ago. Why do we need to do it again?’ I pointed out that it was long before the girls were born (they are now four) that we last painted our room, but he still wasn’t having any of it. The man really does hate DIY with a passion. You are probably thinking, why don’t you just do it by yourself then (no pun intended!)? Well, there is a very good reason for that and it is the second obstacle in me carrying out the plan. Me. I am spectacularly crap at DIY. In case you think I am making this up, let me give you two examples of how bad I am.
Whilst painting the walls in our first flat, I somehow managed to get paint not only all over myself but also under the dust sheet and onto our new carpet. To this day I don’t know how I did that. However, the best (or worst) disaster was shortly after we moved into our current home. My husband did not like some of the tiles in our bathroom and wanted to change them. As he was busy at work, he left me with the task of removing them. ‘It’s easy. All you have to do is give them a little tap and them lift them off with a scraper,’ he said. Why on earth he allowed me to do this unsupervised knowing how my previous attempts at DIY had turned out is anyone’s guess. I can only think he didn’t want to do it himself. He did, however, come to rue his decision.
To be honest, I had a great time removing the offending tiles. I’ve always quite fancied a job in demolition and this was the nearest thing I’ve come to it. By the time my husband returned from work, I had nearly finished. ‘He’s going to be so proud,’ I thought to myself, ‘I’ve done this without cocking it up.’ Oh, how wrong I was. I realised this as soon as I saw my husband’s puce coloured, apoplectic face. ‘Did you not think to put a sheet down first?’ he said in a cold, steely voice. I didn’t, I really didn’t and I’m not sure why. After all, I’m a reasonably intelligent woman, and this should have been the first thing I thought of. I looked around at the carnage of bits of plaster and old tiles, and saw the bathroom through his eyes. No blooming wonder he was cross. Only this was not the only thing I’d done wrong. ‘I told you to tap the tiles gently. Not whack them as hard as possible,’ he yelled. I had tapped the tiles gently, initially. If this hadn’t worked then I’d tried again, a little bit harder. Well perhaps more than a little bit harder as I had managed to also dislodge some bits of plaster. Needless to say, after he spent more than an hour tidying up the mess, and the best part of half a day replastering the wall he hasn’t asked me to do anything since.
So you see a DIY project would really give me something to get my teeth into and would be quite an achievement when (if) I finish it. The only question is whether I’m really up to it. Will I just end up making one hell of a mess that only a professional can sort out? Will it push my husband over the edge? Will we end up sleeping in a half-finished room for the foreseeable future? Surely, if I take it slowly, one step at a time, and don’t rush it will all turn out OK. Surely, it will? Won’t it?