I’m sorry: my fingers misread my thoughts. That should read: The Laughing Housewife Is Decorating As Part Of Her Indentured Servitude.
The house was re-wired fourteen months ago. I need to paint the ceilings, particularly around the light fixtures. You might think it has taken me a long time to get to it but you have to factor in:
- I walk the dogs a lot.
- In that time I have painted and/or papered the lounge, downstairs hall, upstairs hall, Tory Boy bedroom, downstairs toilet, one side of the bannister.
- I play computer games a lot.
- I couldn’t do anything while the kitchen and bathroom were refurbished.
- I spend all day writing blogs, reading blogs, writing comments on blogs, reading comments on blogs, replying to comments on blogs.
- In Tilly Bud Time, fourteen months is nothing: it took me six years to finish decorating the hall, by which time I had to re-paint the woodwork and the paper was two different shades because the stuff that had gone up first had faded to a dirty hand print colour.
I only have to paint two ceilings, so an afternoon should do it. By which I mean it will take at least a week. There’s the shifting, the carting, the cleaning, the dusting, the wall prep, the equipment to dig out of the loft, the sheets to cover everything, the arguing with the Hub because I’m exhausted and in a bad mood, the long bath to soak away aches and pains and plan his assassination, the cleaning up once I’m done, the long bath because I should have cleaned up before I took the first long bath and now I’m dirty again from cleaning, and the lying on the couch in the recovery position while my grateful family bring me cups of Earl Grey tea and apologies because they forgot to buy me a thank you box of Maltesers.
I’m telling you all this not to show how industrious I am, which I am, but to apologise in advance if I don’t comment on your blog or reply to comments on mine for the next few days. I planned to start the decorating today and I’m already a day behind because I’m going out tonight and I can’t paint, cook and weep at an amateur production of Hamlet all in one day. I’ll start tomorrow. Or Wednesday.