That Guy: DIY skills nailed in the school of hard knocks

Opinion

We have been in our present house for just over four years now and it is really starting to feel like a proper home.

Like many people we mortgaged ourselves to the hilt to be here - so much so, in fact, that for the first six months our bank insisted on running a branch from the house, complete with an ATM machine at the front gate.

Once we paid a little of the principal we were considered less of a risk but the bank manager still used our house as his weekend bach in summer.

Things are far more homely now with just our family, and the Venezuelan au pair who stays on occasion when my wife and kids are away.

I have done most of the renovations myself and you have to remember that it was a complete mess when we first moved in.

This isn't really surprising as originally it was one of 65 other leaky apartment units, in a large complex on the other side of town. But I removed it, put it on a truck, and relocated it to this piece of land.

The move came as a bit of a surprise to the people either side of us in the apartment complex, and it also left them each without one major structural wall and various bits of plumbing and wiring.

We got the present land cheaply because of the hum you hear constantly, and the warm tingly sensation you can feel around your temples and sinuses in certain parts of the section.

Apparently it is something to do with the triangulating effect of living in the middle of three large power towers and beside New Zealand's largest sun tanning clinic.

I wouldn't say when I started the renovations that I was the handiest of handymen.

In fact, up until that point I pretty much thought that a "handyman" was somebody who frequented massage parlours but wasn't prepared to pay for full sex.

Now I am pretty much self-taught and have learned to do things that once I would have thought were impossible.

To put this in perspective, my greatest achievement at school woodwork class would probably have to be a wall-mounted spice rack complete with handy towel roller attachment.

I gave it to my parents for Christmas and then on Boxing Day my father burned it.

He claimed that it caught fire by itself, a result of the friction effect caused by the wooden towel roller being slightly off-kilter.

I suppose it was possible, but once it was ablaze there was no stopping it as, rather than being varnished with a brush, the whole thing had been "dipped" to save time.

Regardless, I knew deep down that my father was embarrassed by it and that he was glad he didn't need to look at it any more.

I was only 7 years old but he was right to be ashamed of me and, at the end of the day, he just wanted the best for me.

I remember him teaching me to bang in nails while blindfolded.

I had to keep going until I had lost all my nails - fingernails that is - but by the end of this intensive course I was as good as the next kid.

I thank my father now, because rather than carry that emotional baggage around with me for the rest of my life I chose to use the shame productively to overcome my inadequacies and become the handyman I believe I am today.