Saturday, 31 August 2013

How not to decorate

Well! You probably haven't noticed I've been busy, but if you have, I love you! We've been moving into our new house, only two hours, and yet what feels like a world away, from our "home". 
I've got to admit, I really wanted to live in the proper countryside, out in the sticks, and we viewed some amazing places, but realistically we wanted to be in a town and able to walk to places. 
Now we are here, I am not disappointed. We have the best of both worlds. And I feel a bit like I'm tempting fate saying that when we're only a few weeks in, but I'm truly chuffed. We are a stones throw from shops and parks and playgroups (oh and pubs) and yet tractors regularly bustle down the road and a five minute car journey will always involve field views and lots of sky! Is that weird? I notice the sky more... 
I swear to god the people here are calmer, friendlier, and so damn nice. And I lived in a lovely place before, so here just seems crazy nice. But that could just be the holiday-feeling housie honeymoon? Or I haven't run into the local nutter yet? ( I've met a couple of nutters but they were so nice that they hardly count..) 

ANYWAY, turns out when you get a new house you have to do shit to it. Which got me thinking that I really am jealous of those fortunate folk who do NOT have to paint their own skirting boards. 
That was my boring task today, and it's all so much more intense than plain old wall painting. That gloss stuff is hardcore, right? Concentration.
Anyway, I had nearly finished the bedroom and was singing away to Ultimate Eighties, when my husband popped the door open to check how it was going. 
Cue, cat leaping in and having a good old poke about, as she likes to know what is going on. She jumps onto the freshly painted windowsill quite calmly, only to be verbally attacked by her crazy male owner, who is losing his rag VERY SPEEDILY. 
A tirade of swear words and exasperated actions make her go from batshit to apeshit, and she flaps about running from surface to surface, leaving a permanent glossy trail in her wake. 
My lovely husband does not remain calm. I can only look on and sigh.
I am not totally keen on his "throw white spirit EVERYWHERE!" approach, but this is met with more panic. 

The house fucking stinks. The cat fucking stinks. 
My life... Ah! I'm pretty lucky really.

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