You can be blinded by the result and not see the mistakes at first. Then your wife points them out with an accusatory finger. The decorator has made a mistake and it’s my fault.
Except its not really my fault. I told him to paint the bathroom Adam Cream. I didn’t tell him to paint it Rose Pink.
Still, I thought the flat looked lovely. It was as if I’d walked into the wrong apartment. It looked so new and fresh.
Gone was the ghastly nylon carpet replaced by some gorgeous oak flooring.
I remember the first time we walked into the flat at Canary Wharf. I thought it was perfect. Bright, airy, just what we needed. But, over the years, I’ve come to hate the carpet. I hate the fact that all carpet is disgusting and is principally made up of old bits off shoes, dead skin, nails and general bodily secretions.
Now that has all changed.
Mind you, there was a lot of dust. This will, of course, soon be gone but when I arrived it coated everything. It was like the dusting of chocolate on a cappuccino. It made the floor quite slippery.
My job today, though was finding everything I’d secreted around the flat and put it all back the way I thought it was before Christmas.
I was a bit concerned when I couldn’t find the third pillow. Why would someone steal an old pillow, I wondered. I searched high and low. To be fair, there’s not that many places to hide things in the flat.
Then, out of the corner of my eye I spotted the floral wheelie bag. I took it out of the cupboard and opened it up. There was the third pillow and the duvet which I’d forgotten about.
As the clock approached 3pm, my right leg was complaining so I packed up and left, knowing I’d be back to finish the job early next week.
Then came the long drawn out negotiations with the decorator. He’s returning on the 18th to fix a curtain pole and repaint the bathroom the correct colour.
