It is a truth universally acknowledged that women with butterfly minds like mine ought not to be allowed to do DIY unsupervised as it tends to start as one thing and finish up as something quite different. Today I started by mortaring the bricks and patching the render in the courtyard – ie the wall I’d attacked with a hammer and chisel a fortnight ago. I’m quite pleased with the end result. Then this afternoon I painted the second of the three courtyard walls. It took three hours and I must have lost quite a lot of weight under the plastic roof in the sun…think Noel Coward humming “Mad dogs…” I even enamelled all the ironwork that pokes out from the wall. So far so good.
Then I went off plan. Instead of preparing the third wall with a solution of diluted bleach to kill off the moss and lichen before applying a coat of paint I made a mobile. Yup – I don’t know where the urge came from either, it could have been the drift wood and shells that I fetched back from the Isle of Wight and which I had to shift in order to do the painting. It might even have been the little package of previously collected driftwood from Staithes and unearthed during the excavation of the boxes labelled “kitchen” (and no we’ve still not finished – Rip Van Winkle has needed his sleep for the last couple of days – we’ve still not got the pacing sorted.) It might even have been the beads that I ordered off the Internet many moons ago and which came to light as I hefted things around the living room.
Either way I was to be found with assorted drift wood, shells, beads from a disembowelled charity shop necklace and an artistic urge to arrange them in exactly the right order. On the other hand it could have been dehydration and paint fumes! Having sorted my treasure out and spent some time getting them in exactly the right order I then had to find the box containing my crafting supplies. I have rather a lot of nylon line – the next thing I needed. My friend Hattie and I may have become slightly carried away about eighteen months ago when our crafting and our bargain hunting overlapped in Boyes. To the rest of the world it might look like we purchased rather a lot of nylon fishing line – to Hattie and I it looks like crafting material. Amazingly I knew where it was. Half an hour later I was merrily drilling holes into the driftwood and the shells with my dremel drill. I even remembered to cover the spot on the shell where I wanted to drill with masking tape so that it wouldn’t shatter and hey presto – two painted courtyard walls and a fetching mobile.
HWIOO was slightly puzzled when he awoke as to the way I had prioritised my afternoon. I’ve no doubt he’ll start muttering about action plans and what’s urgent and what isn’t. My argument – which I think you’ll find is a sound one – is that I have used up resources that were taking up space and which I might never have got around to doing otherwise.