I've spent too many weeks this year emptying cupboards and wardrobes, shifting furniture, stepping over Henry Hoover, trying not to tip cans of paint on the carpet and living in general chaos. Tonight, now that Richard and I have succumbed to sore throat disease, I nearly - to quote Billy Elliott - lost my blob.
We only had half a wall, a short skirting board and a third coat on the bedroom radiators to paint today. That necessitated moving an empty-ish wardrobe - no problem I hear you cry. In theory, no, not a problem. But the bed then became covered in bits and pieces from the wardrobe and I couldn't get past it to finish painting the radiators. Fluff under the wardrobe needed vacuuming and the way Henry Hoover was plugged in I looked like a contortionist trying to vacuum whilst balancing on one hand. I had to take control. I unwound Henry Hoover and approached the vacuuming from a different angle and with a new nozzle. In no time it was 'job done'. Richard was ready to paint the skirting boards and every time he bent down to do so I annoyed him - not on purpose - by squeezing past him with a paint brush and pot of satin white for a final third coat on the radiators. Yes, Farrow and Ball is expensive but is such good consistency and nowhere else have I needed three coats...
Finally the tasks were achieved. Richard started coughing and required paracetamol and I opened the windows even wider to get rid of eau-de-eggshell forcing Richard to hide downstairs with the heating on. I was baking hot and he was shivering. He has a cold - but wanted to help doing the decorating - and I wanted the windows open.
After a friend had been round for nibbles and a glass of wine I redressed myself in decorators' overalls and put a second coat on the skirting board then painted two doors in Farrow and Ball New White eggshell. I couldn't do it earlier as our guest would have gone home with his sleeves covered in paint from our still-wet door frames.
'Please, Richard, don't shut the sitting room door, it's still tacky and it will stick,' said I as I gathered up dust sheets in the bedroom.
All was going well until I announced I couldn't sleep in our room along with the paint fumes. Richard shut all the windows again and said he'd be ok sleeping there but I knew it wouldn't be good for his cough. He was certainly suffering from a chill and was ready for bed about 7:30 pm. He elected to sleep in the spare room and helped get the sofa bed down for me. I wasn't ready for sleep, unsurprisingly. I last went to bed at 7:30 pm when I was eight. But I needed the sofa bed - if I shared the spare bed with Richard, who was coughing well, neither of us would get any sleep.
In order to get the sofa bed down one chair had to be moved, a table's contents had to be shifted and I needed to get to some bedding. Great! Spare bedding was easily found but the duvet was hidden under all the contents of the moved wardrobe from earlier in the day. I almost lost my blob...
When Richard had gone to bed I re-opened all the bedroom windows to let out the paint smells.(So much for odourless paint). I struggled to remove the duvet without getting it stuck to still-wet skirting boards and went downstairs to switch off the heating. Sadly the sitting room door had not been left open - as I'd requested - and now has to be redone along the edge by the hinge. I left it open. Finally I was ready to settle down to watch 'The Durrells'. And, just like last week, it was a vain hope: I couldn't get comfortable on the sofa bed. The cat, finding it exciting that the sitting room door was open, found his way upstairs and wanted to come into the sofa-bed-room and I'd lost the remote control. Bugger it!
***
By my bedtime my throat was less sore but my eyes were itchy, the cat was crying for attention and I needed a pee. I had to give into the cat as he was scratching at the door. Richard was also coughing in the spare room at the top of the house and it felt like 1 am. In fact it was only 10:30 pm and I just about managed to watch 'The Durrells' in a semi- recumbent position on an uncomfortable sofa bed, two hours after transmission. I decided to take something to knock me out. It wouldn't do for the Durrell's friend, Theo, to try to spend any time in our house of chaos. He displayed severe OCD in tonight's episode and couldn't bear a thing out of place.
By sheer fluke I remembered to bring in the geraniums - we're expecting yet another morning frost - I was out there, barefoot, in my nighty on the patio, feeling cold ...Bloody geraniums! I fed the cat - to stop him scratching at the door - I took a paracetamol-containing night time decongestant and nicked the Easter egg I bought for Richard. I felt like scoffing it and getting the duvet covers plastered in chocolate.
By 11 pm Richard had stopped coughing, the cat had stopped crying and I'd eaten the chocolate egg. I'd managed to get most of the day's paint off my hands and, although I knew I really was quite tired, didn't feel sleepy. Damn it. The only other chocolate egg in the house is an expensive Green & Black's dark chocolate one. Perhaps I should find something else to do...
Like a crossword or read a book like normal people.
Decorating creates chaos ...
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