The long weekend. A time of family, friends and lots and lots of chocolate. At least that’s what I had imagined.
It’s not what happened.
It was one of those times where one small inconsequential decision sets of an avalanche of epic proportions.
I have a high-pressure water sprayer.
It holds me thrall.
When wielding it like a light saber I feel omnipotent.
Also my mother was coming to lunch so I thought I should clean the porch.
Standing back to admire my handiwork, The Husband wandered over and nodded in approval.
“You know that’s all we have to do to paint the wall.”
“Paint the wall?”
“Yes, I hate that colour. Why don’t we go and buy some paint and see.”
And that is how I spent my weekend starting the DIY project of the century.
Apparently, according to the man in the paint shop, you have to paint corner to corner or you can see the streaks when the paint dries. So, the porch stretched to the whole side of the house.
Actually, I have to say that the team at Mica Hardware in Morning Glen far outstrip Builders Warehouse for service, expertise and advice.
The French doors then looked really shabby, so I had to strip and varnish those.
Now the rafters of the porch need a fresh coat of paint too and there are still the other three sides of the house to do.
My body aches in a myriad painful ways after a weekend workout in the Mr. Miyake School of Exercise. Wax on wax off and so on. My roller arm aches like a bench-pressed whatever Arnold used to bench-press.
The wall looks great.
The water sprayer has been surpassed by the paint stripping heat gun.
I have paint in my eyebrows.
And my weekends are booked for the foreseeable future.