I began the new year setting out some fairly straightforward resolutions and am pleased to say that I have started off fairly well.
Mr B and I managed to avoid opening a bottle of wine until the weekend and we completed four sessions of Insanity so, although I have not yet stepped on the scales, I am feeling hopeful that the dreaded flab will be somewhat diminished.
Today we managed to pick up some brand new pillows so I plan to pop out and get some protectors tomorrow and we can finally be rid of our stinky old ones. With my birthday not too far away new bedding is now at the top of my wish-list.
I have managed to get one quote for damp-coursing the downstairs which was, as I feared, pretty astronomical, so another plan for tomorrow is to try and arrange a few more and see what we can arrange.
Strangely it is not the disruption of the damp-coursing and subsequent plastering that I dread the most, it is afterwards. New walls means decorating…and it is not something I am any good at. It is a trait that I fear I have inherited from my Father. (Sorry Dad.)
He was once left in charge of re-painting the downstairs loo. After assuring my Mum that he had chosen a very subtle shade of ‘apple-white’ he sent us out for the day and set about his task. On our return we were somewhat amazed as a luminous-nuclear-green glow emanated from around the door. Four coats of white paint later and you could still just about detect the glow if you looked hard enough. Or turned the lights off.
Many years later they decided to refit their kitchen. The loo-incident clearly vanquished from her memory, and after making every single other decision herself, my Mum decided to let Dad pick the flooring. “Well dear, they do have to feel that their opinions count sometimes.”
It was a task he set about with vigour. Stores were visited. He spent hours poring over tiles and vinyl flooring online. Samples were ordered, laid out, arranged, re-arranged and scrutinised for days. Finally a decision was made. His decision.
I had the misfortune of being left holding the fort the day they came to lay that floor. Mum had left me with VERY specific instructions as to which way the rectangular tiles were to be laid. Only I wasn’t feeling very well. And perhaps wasn’t really listening very well either. When the chaps arrived I was still not feeling well and, desperate to return to my bed and hide from the world a little longer, I hurriedly made them some tea and left them to it. And I am pretty sure I gave them Mum’s instructions.
On venturing back downstairs later that day I got somewhat of a shock. It appeared that in my absence some strange breed of vegetarian dragon had arrived, and vomited, all over the kitchen floor. At least that’s what it looked like. And, horror of horrors, the vomit tiles were lying the wrong way round.
This, however, proved to be a blessing in disguise. Mum, predictably, hated the new tiles and, after assuring the shop that despite her specific instructions, *coughs*, the tiles had been laid wrongly. They were extremely helpful and offered to rectify this immediately. She also managed to charm them into letting her swap the tiles for a somewhat plainer version.
This unfortunate lack of taste when it comes to home-decor is something that has almost certainly been passed on. Despite trying out hundreds of paint samples the two rooms that I have been left in charge of, the dining room and the guest bedroom, are currently horrific shades of hospital-green and korma-yellow respectively.
I think I will be leaving Mr B in charge.
It is important that he knows his opinion counts after all.
What are your worst decorating disasters? Do let me know….and ease my pain a little.
Disclosure: This post is brought to you in association with Carpetright although all words are my own, obviously! Please see my PR and disclosure policy for more details.