“7 THINGS – I’ve learned about decorating with my husband”

This week's "7 THINGS!"

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“7 THINGS – I’ve learned about decorating with my husband”

There are old houses and there are old, old houses. The difference, apart from the obvious age and date: old houses are interesting, often with a quirky feature, maybe a generous room or a lovely garden. Old houses have history in their walls, life in their bones and feel solid to the touch and they respond well to internal modernisation. I like houses like this. Then we have old, old houses. These houses are ancient. Interesting and quirky yes, but with plaster on the walls that is like sand, one touch and a whole chunk of it crumbles away. They have floors that list and slope with walls to match. They have holes in them. Holes in the windows, holes in the roof, holes in their history so you have no idea who it was shoved crisp packets and cement into said holes trying to block the draft. They are a pain in the proverbial to run, and no sooner has one job been finished than three more pop up with urgency. It’s like playing whack a mole, but the mole is a vital piece of maintenance and the only way you can whack it is with great big wads of cash. Occasionally though, a room is ‘finished’ for the time being at least, all holes plugged, and then you get to paint it! Oh, the joy, being able to prettify instead of eating breakfast in a hardhat. My house is an old, old house, and this is what I’ve learned about decorating a room with my husband:

“7 THINGS I’ve learned about decorating with my husband!”

1.     He may be an army officer but must have, secretly, in his spare time undertaken a painting apprenticeship, as the way he paints is correct and the way I paint is incorrect. Who knew? He will stand behind me and silently draw breath at my mismatched strokes, the odd drip and even how I hold the brush, yes really.

2.     Every time I turn my back, he will happily steal the paint tin, meaning I am left with a drippy brush, a streaky surface and am forced to abandon the little zone in which I am working and go in search of paint. I seem to spend a disproportionate amount of time chasing my paint tin around the room. And yes, he does have his own tin, but for some reason, just like whatever I have ordered in a restaurant, mine seems to be of more interest and therefor up for grabs.

3.     He likes to set up trip hazards within a foot of wherever I am working, and being one of life’s less dexterous beings, it is like we are filming an episode of “The Chuckle Brothers”. Ladders precariously poised, buckets of dirty water, open paint canisters, roped off areas (yes, really!) I don’t know whether I’m leaving the room or auditioning for Crystal Maze.

4.     My husband finishes painting and looks like he’s fresh out of the shower. I always, always end up covered in paint. It’ll be on my clothes, in my hair, across my face, over my hands, which I then transfer to cups, carpets and kids. Although this did come in handy when I couldn’t remember the name of the shade we’d chosen for a hallway and managed to take my pyjama bottoms that I’d been wearing to the nice man at B&Q – who paint matched the shade from a splodge on my bottom.

5.     No matter how well I think I have cleaned my paintbrush, he always, always gives it another rinse – this makes me disproportionately mad. I don’t know why. He tells me that paint drying in the fibres ruins the brushes and you never can be too sure…

6.     He can cut into corners and edges neatly, cleanly, and as though it’s been done by a professional. When I try to cut into the edge of a wall or floor, my line is wavy and spills over to the next surface. This results in shouting. I refer you dear reader to number 1.

7.     I’ve learned that long after I’ve got bored/tired/have an achey wrist and abandon the chore, covered in paint and trying not to get tangled in the ladder, bucket, rope traps that have been set for me. He will continue painting, he will paint and paint until the early hours, even though he is tired, working as hard as he can to make our old, old house nice. I came down this morning and he has done just this. I went to bed last night and the dining room was in chaos. Right now, it’s almost like a proper dining room, one we can actually eat it and I love him for it. I love his hard work, I love his skill, I love his attention to detail, and I love that he has the desire to do this for the people who love him and who love him in return. And I love my new green walls. Thank you, Mr P. Although, thought I should mention, have just given the brushes in the sink one last rinse, you never can be too sure… X

For all things Amanda Prowse, to buy her books or pre-order her hotly anticipated new memoir “Women Like Us” head over to www.amandaprowse.com Thank you X