Tag Archives: Decorating

Christmas Decorating

4 Dec

As you can see, I have decorated my blog for Christmas.

Christmas in the post-War United States

Christmas in the post-War United States (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I changed some colour scheme or other so that bits are red instead of green.  It was an accident: I was looking for a way to remove empty boxes from my dashboard.  I rather like the red; don’t you?

The empty boxes are still there, of course.  I’m rubbish at this technical stuff.

I also changed my header, courtesy of the genius Aquatom, who sent me a choice of four Christmas headers out of the blue.  Thank you, Tom!

I am not going with snow this year and I am not changing the theme.  Blame the economy*.

*It doesn’t cost bloggers anything to change those things but if politicians can blame their laziness to fix things on the economy, then so can I.

 

Weakly Photo Challenge: Colour

30 Jul

The link is rather tenuous this week but I’ve been busy as you know, and the smell of the paste has gone straight to my cororabaral ceetext.

Spud’s room is done, decorated.  I’m rather proud of myself.  It went well, apart from one little glitch.  You know how I said it would be blue and white…?  Look at this photo and tell me if you think this paper is white or not:

Exactly.  It is white.  It is also the underside.  This is the topside, a sort of silvery bronze:

NEXT apparently roll their papers with the underside out and the topside in; but they didn’t bother telling me.  I tell you, I was this close to pasting that £140 roll of wall paper on the patterned side, but the Hub slapped me around with the paste brush until I saw sense.  Instead, Spud now has a feature wall.

You should have seen my earlier post by now, with all the photos of Spud’s room.  I had intended to insert them into this post but I can’t find the gallery feature in WordPress and it takes so long to arrange them between the text that I could have decorated another room in the time I spend fiddling.  I will have more photos for you once the room is properly arranged.

My decorating skills are not great, coming as they do with an attitude of slap it on and stick it up, but my spirit makes up in willingness what it lacks in ability.  The point is, Spud loves his new room.  And that’s what it’s all about.

6WS: Photos Of The Decorating, As Promised

30 Jul

            

101/1001 (18)

29 Jul

Week 18: no tasks completed.  Many are ongoing.

Nothing of interest to report.

Two new 101/1001ers have taken up my slack:

I suggest you go and visit them because it’s dullsville here.

And don’t forget to check out the rest in the list on the right.  I mean it.  Or else.

*

The decorating is finished.  It’s not on my 101 list but it was on my Jobs To Do list on the fridge, if that helps.

I haven’t posted photos yet because Spud hasn’t seen it.  He went to stay with his brother in Lancaster last Friday, until Wednesday.  He texted on Wednesday to say he was coming home Thursday.  He texted on Thursday to say he was coming home today.

He hasn’t woken up yet, I’m reliably informed, so he may or may not text to say he’s coming home tomorrow.

You never knew I was a hotel in another life, did you?

Pictures may or may not, therefore, appear tonight.  I wouldn’t watch this space if I were you.

Lots of Love,

Grumpy.

*

I don’t want to cheat you of your laughs today, so here’s a bonus joke, excluded from the 1001 countdown (technically, countup), for Viewfromtheside‘s prompt, joke:

The graduate with a science degree asks, “Why does it work?”
The graduate with an engineering degree asks, “How does it work?”
The graduate with an accounting degree asks, “How much will it cost?”
The graduate with an arts degree asks, “Do you want fries with that?”

Is It Monday?

25 Jul
Papyrus Migraine Therapy
Image via Wikipedia

I’m sorry I didn’t get to your blogs yesterday; even with the decorating I expected to be able to read them before bed.

The day turned out to be rather full:

  • Morning: church
  • Afternoon: wallpaper
  • Late Afternoon: migraine

That caught me by surprise, and was most inconvenient.  I was in bed before seven last night, having taken two Migraleve (the wonder pill!) and I slept until seven this morning.

The migraine has been reduced to a dull ache to match the aching back from being in bed so long; but I’m rather foggy this morning.  I wrote a one-minute piku about migraines for my other blog, and realised after I’d published it that I’d made a new page, not a new post.

For a while, I thought today was Tuesday.  Just going to feed the dog.  Dogs.  It’s not raining, anyway.

*

Postscript: I previewed this one to make sure I’d used ‘Add a new post’ and not ‘Add a new page’ this time.  I had used the correct wink/lidget thing…in my other blog.  Had to c+p it over here.

I’d better not comment anywhere until the fog clears; who knows what offence I might accidentally cause?

*

*

Up The Blue!

23 Jul
120

Image via Wikipedia

Time to get the wallpaper out.

*

*

I packed Spud Bud off to his brother in Lancaster yesterday – having first insisted he pack up his room, then pack his own suitcase – and today I start decorating.

The last time I decorated Spud’s room he thought Thomas the Tank Engine was the height of interior decoration sophistication.  Fortunately, he moved into his brother’s room before train curtains became an issue.

Tory Boy opted for a Japanese theme when I decorated his room; Spud has never been keen on it and I promised to give it a makeover while he’s away.

I calculate the whole thing will cost me a pound: I have one box of wallpaper paste left from last time; but I’ll need to buy another.  I have plain blue paper from Freegle; one plain white and government-decorators-expensive roll from Tory Boy’s former workplace (he had permission; we’re scavengers, not thieves); and many, many two-thirds-empty tins of various shades of white paint.  Spud lives and breathes Manchester City: it will be like he’s sleeping in their boardroom.

I have been doing this makeover for several years now.  He has a blue canvas wardrobe (Freegle), almost matching blue curtains (Freegle), a blue rug (charity shop), and a blue light bed throw (stolen from ours one hot summer night).  The paper and paint will complete the look.

As a result, I won’t be around to comment much on your blogs over the next week and I might not get to reply to everyone commenting here.  Please don’t take it personally.  I will still post daily (hooray for the schedule button!) and visit you as much as I can.

*

 Check out the other people taking part in the Six Word Saturday challenge.

I Might As Well Face It, I’m Addicted To Blog

6 Apr

I am duty-bound to tell you that I will be painting one side of the bannister and the up-the-stairs skirting board over the next two days so I won’t be blogging as much as usual.  If it’s anything like last time, you won’t notice the difference.

What can I say?  My name is Tilly and I am a blogger.

Wow, You Lot Are Picky

24 Mar
Maltesers in a tray.

Image via Wikipedia

I’m sorry I didn’t wear a headscarf or a crate, great ideas though they were.  We are so poor, I couldn’t afford to buy them.  All of our money was lost in the Great Malteser Rush of ’92.

The Art Of Painting

23 Mar

Once I got the stuff down from the loft I had to start.  I like painting, once I get going.  To get going, however, involves a lot of preparation.  The Hub insists that if his wife is going to do the job, she’s going to do it properly.  He’s good like that.  He always makes sure I have good equipment, and even bought me a special paint roller cleaning thingy that is my personal Kryptonite because I am feeble in the face of it but it really does clear the roller of all excess paint.  He’s so thoughtful.  I don’t know what I’d do without him.  Hire a decorator, maybe?

 

 

The operation went like this:

  • Preparation: 3.5 hours
  • Painting: 2 hours
  • Clean Up: 3.5 hours

The first 3.5 hours does involve a lot of, ‘Spud, will you pleeeeease get off the PS3 and into the loft for my paint gear?’ and the second 3.5 hours included a 2-hour bath and a one-hour drying-off period, and the nine hours were spread over a month, but you can still see I was busy the whole day, can’t you?

As requested, here is a photo of the newly painted ceiling:

Isn’t it lovely?  A thing of beauty is a joy forever; in this case, that’s probably true: I’m not painting it again; my backthighsshoulderslegsarmswristshandshead is aching.  One coat will do.  Which reminds me: I learned a few things yesterday.

  • The ratio of paint to hair is roughly equivalent to the ratio of paint to brush, because
  • What goes up tends to come down again
  • Ladders are evil
  • Always use the ladder without the missing foot
  • And the ladder that lets you reach the far corner
  • If you  must paint in your pyjamas (and I must; I don’t know why), don’t use your favourites unless you don’t intend wearing them again
  • You can remove the light bulbs or see what you’re doing; you can’t do both
  • Fortunately, emulsion can be wiped off wallpaper
  • Fortunately, wet emulsion can be wiped off wallpaper
  • Don’t put off wiping now instead of leaving it for later
  • Unfortunately, dry emulsion cannot be wiped off wallpaper

It was hard work but there is the reward of a job well done, which was the satisfaction of a job done.  The whole of my downstairs has been decorated in the last twelve months.  Such a good feeling.  Apart from one piece of skirting board.  I also have to paint the skirting board up the stairs and the bannister on the stair-side.  That’s a job for next week.  First, I have to buy some new pyjamas.

Job Done

23 Mar

I got the ceilings painted.  All I can say is owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

More later.

PS You do realise that my next post is going to be as interesting as watching paint dry?

The Laughing Housewife Is Decorated For Services To Housework

21 Mar
Dried green paint

Image via Wikipedia

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:

  1. I walk the dogs a lot.
  2. 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.
  3. I play computer games a lot.
  4. I couldn’t do anything while the kitchen and bathroom were refurbished.
  5. I spend all day writing blogs, reading blogs, writing comments on blogs, reading comments on blogs, replying to comments on blogs.
  6. 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.

I Heart Nepotism

26 Oct

Words fail me…my kitchen is finished.  Photos to follow.

Words don’t really fail me, of course; you know that’s not my style.  So here’s an update:

Tim the Tiler laid my kitchen floor yesterday.  A real jobsworth, he told me about every neighbour of mine – and there were many – who had abused him or complained, so that he was forced to down tools and walk out, never to return.  Suitably appalled, I plied him with tea, one sugars, the whole day, and kept my mouth shut.  He did a lovely job.

I have just re-read the Harry Potter books for the nth time and last night I started on the movies.  I had forgotten how long they are, though, and was up way past my bedtime as a result.   I was woken this morning at the debauched hour of 8:20 by Matt the Finisher.  Matt is the boss’s nephew and that is usually a bad omen but he is an impressive young man.  Not in looks: he is wearing a pyjama-stripe hoodie and is possibly malnourished, but his work ethic is outstanding.  He has sealed every worktop, socket and tile, including the ones behind the appliances; put back the vent cover, even though the vent was hidden and could reasonably have been forgotten; replaced two windowsills and a bathroom shelf; took out the toilet and sink and over-sink tiles and called in the decorator to re-do that wall because he wasn’t satisfied with how it looked; scraped cement mix off the kitchen wall that the floor man had left behind; and moved my fridge freezer and freezer back into the kitchen.  I could go on, but I think you have the idea.  The electrician who came yesterday warned me MtF was particular: he had come to move one socket because it was slightly higher than the two it was by, and when I said he could leave it as far as I was concerned, he shuddered and gave me to understand that Matt wouldn’t like it….

I can’t fault a man who is going to leave me with a perfect kitchen and bathroom and do it all on one cup of tea.  He wouldn’t take more because it interfered with his work time.  Nepotism rocks.

*

The decorator was the same man as last time.  He asked if he could get some water for his bucket:

Me: Let me just move these breakfast dishes out of the sink.
Him: I thought you’d be finished by now.
Me: (Apologetically) I overslept this morning so I’m behind on my chores.
Him: No, no – I meant your refurb.

*

I found this interesting – the recommended tags for this post included Nepotism, the People’s Republic of China, Government, Robert F. Kennedy, and the American House of Representatives.  It would appear that even the internet is jaded about politics.

I Paint, Therefore I Am

20 Aug

Tired.

One whole day + five doors + five skirting boards + five  door frames + half a bannister =
three coats and three tins of paint. 

Who knew there was so much maths in DIY?

A Painter Pictures A Thousand Words

16 Aug

Sometimes I look back over my day and think, well that was 24 hours of what’s left of my threescore year and ten I just wasted; but today isn’t one of them. Today I painted my downstairs hall; washed and hung out and brought in again to the final value of pi; made breakfast, lunch and dinner; cleaned up after breakfast, lunch and dinner; went to the chippy to collect the dinner; paid bills at the bank; walked the dogs; and a hundred little jobs besides. Admittedly, I delegated some of those jobs but I know the hall painting and shoving stuff into the machine to the final value of pi were mine.

The re-decorating goes on. I like painting and I dislike wallpapering so a lot of the re-decorating i.e. all of it, involves painting over wallpaper. Let its removal be the next man’s problem, because it certainly isn’t mine. So long as the wall looks good, who cares if it’s going to take a blow torch and a pitchfork to strip the old paper? My walls look goooooood. Not all of the walls in the hall: the side going up the stairs doesn’t need decorating because no holes were made in it, nor unsightly brown plaster left for me to cover up. Besides, it took me six years to finish that bit and I’m not painting over it again five minutes later.

I can’t take credit for the colour: that’s the Hub’s department. He has a great eye for colour (the left one); he once took a photography course and was the only person ever to achieve 100% on the colour test. Don’t ask me what was involved in the test because I never listen to him so I wouldn’t know; though I did hear ’100%’ and gave him a pound as a reward.

When we were choosing paint, he liked Pebble and said it would match the wallpaper in the hall; I didn’t like it but I remembered why I was a pound out of pocket and bowed to his superior judgement. And he was right again. It looks gorgeous and he’s so annoying. We couldn’t have got a closer match if we’d taken the wall in to B&Q (or was it Homebase?) and asked them to mix the colour for us.

I am being taken out to lunch tomorrow or I would be painting the woodwork. It’s just as well because my hand is cramped from holding a paint roller all day.

I do apologise that this post isn’t particularly funny or interesting; could it be that I’ve lost my power? Perhaps my power is in the clenched fist that is my right hand and decorating is sucking the life out of it…? A nice house or an amused audience? I’ll have to waste tomorrow thinking about it. Threescore year and nine and 364 days to go….

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The Writer’s Island Prompt this week is ‘inception’. We could have referenced the movie but I haven’t seen it and have no idea what it’s about, so I can’t. This is a poem of two halves. It was supposed to be a poem of the first half but as I was writing it I realised that it was out of date, so I added the years and the second half. I am not satisfied with it and I will come back to it at some point, but I’ve been working on it for three days and I’m not getting anywhere.

Quandary: From Inception To Resolution

1969:
our parents won’t let us marry.
Solution: a small acquisition.
Inspiration: no contraception.
Retribution: a wedding reception.

Seventeen – Mrs Teen – Mama Teen?
No way; no baby for me;
just lies and deception:
a fake miscarriage after the marriage.
And divorce after that.
I don’t miss marriage;
I have my cat.

2009:
our parents want us to marry.
I’m thirty: the clock is tutting.
But that’s so in the past;
we might not last.
If he gets ugly, old and fat
that will be that.
I’ll buy my folks a cat.


Smotherly Love

11 Aug

It’s all a matter of perspective:

For me, fatigue + aches + sleep problems = CFS/ME. 

For the doctor, sleep problems = fatigue + aches. 

Tory Boy is absolutely fine and just needs a regular bedtime and a regular getting up time.  Funny how a child accepts from a stranger what he won’t hear from his parents.  See what happens when that child leaves the care of his doting mother?  Hysteria on the part of the woman who gave birth and lost her waist to him.  I wasn’t gaining a son, I was losing the ability to fit in to a size eight.  Oh, alright: twelve.

My son’s health is of secondary concern to me now that I’ve had the best news I’ve had in years: I’m getting my new kitchen & bathroom in September!  The Hub’s veiled threat to the council to call in the big gun (our MP) obviously did the trick because the prettiest lady and the handsomest man I e’er did see arrived at my house yesterday to give me the news and help me choose colours.

I was walking the dogs when they called and the Hub faced a dilemma: he couldn’t get hold of me by phone so should he send them away or choose the colours himself?  Deciding he would rather live with my displeasure than with broken legs, he chained them to the sofa and was debating the relative merits of speckled over mottled and light beech over dark beech when I got back.  He is my favourite person in the world – after the council’s golden couple, of course.

He was my favourite person, until he started casting aspersions on my approach to housewifely duties: I was washing the floor last night and he asked me why I was bothering when I was going to have a new one in six weeks.  Plaster cast, anyone?

 

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