As I write this I’m surrounded by mess. I’m also painting what’s known in Edmonds Towers as mystudy (aka store room and laundry).
My father, like all dads back then, was a dab hand with brush and wallpaper. When my older brother married and moved away, he changed jobs and homes a few times. Dad would joke it was to avoid decorating.
My first attempt with brush, or paint pads as I preferred, was in a Victorian flat shared with mates in our early 20s. I learned that what it says on the can doesn’t always match on a wall.
Dad and I started on my bedroom with roller and pads, only for me to hesitate half-way through, then confess, “Not sure about this colour.”
Poor Dad! We washed off all our paint to restore an original cream. However, those lads I shared with were determined to brighten our plain, high-ceilinged kitchen. We painted it a vivid orange. Afterwards, it always felt like being inside a tomato soup can.
When She Who Knows and I took up residence in Great Marton, the Towers was painted from top to bottom by late, renowned ‘Bob the Brush’.
Then last autumn, many contented years later, She Who began threatening to bring in decorators for the spring – hence this reluctant return to paint pads and cans.
“Of course, I can do it!” I reassured, rather affronted and, as usual, attempting to save money.
Over winter weeks since, my touching up of ‘Soft Peach’ emulsion in the hall was a struggle, but seems to have been found acceptable.
Now I’ve moved on to ‘Wild Primrose’ in the study.
As I break off to write this, She Who Knows has cast a critical eye over the half-finished walls - and her verdict?
“Well,” she said, trying as ever to encourage, “any thing’s an improvement!”
* For more tales from Roy and his books, visit www. royedmonds-blackpool.com