A snowball’s chance…

I’d thought about doing some sewing today.

Well, there was about as much chance of that as the proverbial snowball in hell. It’s the bathroom, you see. About a year ago, we replaced the cistern on the loo, which was old, huge, cracked, leaky and frankly, grim. New cisterns are smaller, neater and generally more unobtrusive. But this leaves large holes in the wall where the original screws held the old cistern on (as well as evidence of several tries to hang the thing on the part of the previous owners), and an unattractive (to put it mildly) patch of garish turquoise paint in an otherwise pleasing expanse of pale sand coloured wall. Finally, I’d had enough of looking at it, although to be fair, I looked at it a lot less than the Husband, if you take my meaning…

The artificial light doesn’t sufficiently capture how very, very turquoise that patch of wall really is. Mind you, my pale sand doesn’t look too flash, either!

My sister and her husband are coming to stay for a few days in 10 days’ time. This provided the spur. I filled and sanded the holes. Then I saw the ceiling was getting a bit flaky and mildewy. Then I saw the tiles over the vanity needed re-grouting, and they were, as another relic of the previous owners, deeply nasty in colour, so a spot of tile paint on them wouldn’t hurt. Then I thought I might as well paint that whole wall. Oh, and why not the ceiling while I was at it? The inside of the bathroom door and the door of the linen cupboard could use a coat of paint too. Well, you get the idea. What was originally going to be a little bit of a touch-up has turned into a major exercise. It’s going to look good, but there’s a fair old bit of work.

Why anyone would voluntarily put up tiles like this is a mystery to me. Sorry if you have these and adore them, but brown fake water splatters… really?

This morning, I scrubbed and de-mildewed the ceiling, got all the flaky ceiling paint off, and washed down the walls. A bit purple-faced from all that overhead activity and goat-like frisking up and down stepladders, I was having a small breather when the Dowager called, sounding like she wanted some company. The Husband wanted to go into town for all sorts of caravan-related errands, so I gratefully reluctantly downed tools and we took her out for lunch followed by the errands. Three hours later, we got home and I had to accept that bathroom redecorating activity had ended for the day. It’s the Husband’s own fault that he will be abluting in a bare, echoing cell tonight instead of a cosy bathroom.

He tempted me, and I fell…..

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