Well my Easter weekend sucked, how about yours?
You see we’re renovating. I say ‘we’ but really it’s the missus who does all the work, I’m just on clean up duty and here’s one of the things they don’t tell you about redecorating; it’s fucken messy, amongst other things.
It’s actually a shit of a job and personally I can’t understand why anyone would even start but then they don’t tell you that in all the TV shows and ads that make it look so appealing. It’s all so easy when it’s someone else money, time and labour.
It’s not our first foray into the DIY. We’ve done a few rooms now and yep, every single one sucked just as much as the other and yes, it might very well be one of those things where you’re supposed to sit back once it’s all done and enjoy it but I don’t; I just recall how bloody back breaking it was and wonder just what the fuck we were thinking to start all this?
Because once you’ve done room you have to do them all. Because now they don’t match, or in the often seen worst case scenario, you’ve stuffed the first one up so bad you have to fuck ‘em all up to match.
This past weekend was the turn of the open plan lounge kitchen ensemble. Not the kitchen refit mind you, because that particular bonding experience is still to come, no this was just walls and ceilings. Which meant sanding. By the shitload.
Of course I know a thing or two about being caked in fine sand. The five weeks we spent in Khe Sanh back in the summer of ’69 (piss off Bryan Adams) left us with more sand in our crack than a fattie on the beach. Of course it was hot too so we literally sweated our tattoos off so it didn’t take long for the sand to harden and in some cases, seal the buttocks right up but that was a mixed blessing cause it meant you avoided having to take a dump (cause Charlie could smell a dump a mile away, especially if you had had the rat for dinner) and the accidental games of stand up sodomy that happened in the officers mess.
To her credit Mrs ClubDes did tell me to piss off for the weekend but I did what most fellas do whenever the other half offers any advice, I considered it, briefly and assumed I knew better and didn’t. Thus the long, wet weekend was spent with the family camped into two rooms, only one of which had a TV. It was like a hotel, only without the exotic locale outside.
Now I love the fam more than life itself but in that enclosed environment things started to get very David Bain I don’t mind telling you.
Of course it meant passing through the dust storm that was the main living area anytime we wanted to eat or drink but that’s okay, I like my tea like I like my cheeks; sandy. Speaking of which, have you seen there’s a new flavour of tea called ‘New Zealand Breakfast’? So now you can sit and have your breakfast, in New Zealand and drink a tea that supposedly tastes like you’re drinking...tea...in...New Zealand.
So feeling slightly emasculated but yet relieved that this type of thing is one of the only times I can honestly play the sick note and not have to do the graft, I was reduced to the clean up, which is not the smartest move for someone with respiratory issues. Who would’ve thunk it aye?
Thus Easter weekend finished with one almost completed living area (we still have to paint the fucker) and me on oxygen. The lesson to be learned here class is if you’re contemplating home improvement, don’t. Ever.
Besides, there has to be a better way of having a 48 hour running argument with a lot less effort.
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