My Eyes! My Eyes!

I think I’ve kept you waiting long enough, but be warned: my new room is not for the faint of heart.  You see, I have this problem of never letting anything go to waste on account of having little disposable income.

The Hub bought a job lot of matt paint – something like 30 litres for £15, two colours: fuchsia and honeysuckle.  I decided the fuchsia was too dark and opted for the honeysuckle.

I needed gloss for the woodwork and I needed a fair bit because I had five pieces of furniture, none of which matched.  Aldi had paint on sale, but not much choice.  I thought I could mix white and bright yellow and make pastel yellow.  There’s a reason I’m not paid to think.

I put on my painting pyjamas, prepped the room, and mixed those suckers.  Did you know that white gloss and bright yellow gloss mixed together make bright yellow gloss?  Me neither; but they do.

The Hub was ill in bed; I was pyjama-ed up, spent up and raring to go, so I went.  I figured that if I didn’t like it, it could act as an undercoat for the time when I could afford to buy pastel yellow gloss. But you know what?  I like it.   Actually, I love it.  It’s, um, bright, but so cheerful.

If you come to stay, you’ll be using this room so you’d better learn to love it, too. But bring a sleeping mask.

I did have one little problem.  After emptying a tray of four tubs of honeysuckle, I noticed a few white patches where I’d missed spots.  I pulled a tub from the next tray in the shed and daubed over the patches.  It was only once it dried that I realised that the contents of tub no. 5 were a slightly different colour – noticeable, but only if the sunlight comes in at a certain angle.

I was bored with painting by this time so, instead of re-doing the whole room, I placed pictures and furniture in strategic positions and voilà!  One room painted one colour.  Honest.

You’ll see a South African table cloth in this next photo, used as a picture.  That’s where the biggest number five daub is.  I think the blue breaks up the blinding luminosity rather well (and I already had it in).

The room cost no more than £20 to re-do, if I include the curtains (charity shop: £1.75), lamp shade (charity shop: £1.99) and cushions (car boot sale: 40p).  

What do you expect of a woman who once papered a bedroom with stickyback plastic?  Class?  You haven’t been here long, have you?

The carpet is fourteen years old and has been through two teenage boys so I need a rug until I can replace it.  Anyone got an old rug covering their compost heap?  You know I’ll give it a good home.  But it needs to be a tasteful colour, like orange.  I have my standards.

 

The Art Of Painting

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.