I could never quite fathom why someone would want to paint houses for a living.
I'd had a few attempts, under duress, when the lounge was getting a makeover. We had no spare cash to pay a professional so, like many DIYers, we attacked the beast ourselves. I spent manyhours that very hot summer balancing 12 feet high up on the scaffolding, scrubbing the ceiling of fly poo.
I'm not sure how I landed that number, or several other jobs that preceded the actual lifting of a paintbrush. When I did finally get around to applying the paint, my lack of any skill became quickly apparent and I did not appreciate every flaw being indiscreetly pointed out.
Fast-forward a few decades and the owners of a bach we have been lucky enough to stay in mentioned the place needed the once-over. Naturally, I volunteered my husband for the job, his prowess in the painting field making him an obvious choice. He, in turn, was hoping a couple of sons might also put their hands up to help out.
But by the time the job was all go, the boys had found themselves in permanent employment and I was being asked to take time off work. What good timing, I thought. I could go along, pull up a deckchair and laze about at the beach, swimming and reading, while good old Eddie did all the work. So I spent my birthday book vouchers, packed a few essentials, shoved it all in the van along with the painting paraphernalia, and off we went.
I kind of felt there was no way I would get away with doing nothing and would probably want to lend a hand. But what I didn't know was how much I would enjoy it. And I'm not talking about the gentle swish of the brush on the easy parts of the cladding.
It turned out I could not be happier scraping and sanding all the framework in the porch, up and down the ladder, bending, twisting, kneeling on the concrete, sandpaper, and body parts at all manner of angles and contortions to get the job done. Oh, the joy of the prep work.
What had happened to me? My inner painting goddess had been unleashed. I learned which gauge sandpaper to use, how to balance on the rung of a ladder while holding a can of paint in one hand and a brush in the other, and acquired the knack of cutting in. At the end of the week, we stood back and looked proudly at a job well done. Watch out, it's never too late to change jobs.
