Overalls: The Power And The Glory
I’m staring at the kitchen cupboards trying to convince myself four coats of paint is enough and they don’t need a fifth. I can’t decide. This calls for a second opinion.
A friend arrives to adjudicate but she wavers too. ‘What was wrong with the old colour?’ she asks irritatingly. ‘It was orange pine, the Eighties revisited,’ I explain. ‘This looks more modern.’
‘Right,’ she nods. ‘Remind me why you want an old house to look modern?’ ‘Not the whole house,’ I whine, ‘just the kitchen.’
‘The bathroom too,’ she nudges. ‘The bathroom too,’ I agree, sulky. ‘But everything else can look old.’
‘I hope you’re not one of these people who buys a period property and then turns it into a Space Age pad,’ she warns. ‘You have a duty to maintain the integrity of original features.’
‘There IS no integrity to cheap 1980s pine,’ I howl, outraged at being remodelled as a philistine.
We’re interrupted by the gas man. He sucks his teeth as he examines my meter. ‘It’s very old,’ he announces, ‘it needs replacing.’ I lob a triumphant glance at my friend. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I tell him grandly. ‘I like old things, they suit the house’s character.’
‘There’s a risk you might end up paying more for your gas with this meter,’ he warns. ‘Change it as soon as you like,’ I invite.
We lure him into the kitchen to settle the paint conundrum. ‘So you did this yourself,’ he surmises. I immediately feel defensive.
‘It was therapeutic,’ I lie. The truth is I’ve run out of funds, plus decorators keep you waiting months – I want it done immediately. ‘It needs a fifth coat,’ the gasman passes judgment. ‘You should also sand down the cupboards first.’
I trail off to Woodies for the third time that week. To cheer myself up, as well as paint and sandpaper I buy new handles for the coats’ cupboard. My sister sent me an electric screwdriver for a housewarming present, so I’m prowling rooms for handles that need tightening – or better still replacing. Now that really is therapeutic.
But nobody warned me how long everything takes when you do-it-yourself. You can spend an entire morning putting up a fiddly lampshade. It took me two days to find the electricity meter.
My boyfriend dropped by to install some shelves and turned huffy when I just happened to mention they were crooked. Apparently the correct response is ‘wonderful, babe’.
One of my brothers arrives next week to pitch in but, since he’s even less handy than me, I can’t help wondering if he simply fancies a break from Omagh.
But I’ve bought a book with diagrams and I’m going to coax him to plumb in the washing machine. And if the kitchen cupboards need a sixth coat – please God no – there’s a paintbrush with his name on it.
‘DIY empowers women, it’s important to be self-reliant,’ claims the friend who’s protective of my period features. Then she potters off for a manicure.
I have red gloss paint embedded under my broken nails and cobwebs in my hair – I don’t feel a bit empowered. Just grubby.
