There I was, earlier this evening, rolling out pastry for a Chicken and Leek pie, when I decided to paint the kitchen.
(Please don't think that this has anything to do with the fact that it's The Fixer's birthday at the weekend and she's invited three friends for a sleepover, because it hasn't. Much).
Anyway, I sidelined the pie and went to look in the garage where (rather fortuitously, I thought) I found a load of Steve the Decorator's abandoned gear.
(Friend of the Father of This Lot. Last here the day before Christmas Eve. The decorator, that is, not the Father of This Lot. Sadly).
Back to the story......
Among the stash was some Vinyl Silk Emulsion. Now I may not be the best painter in the world, but I know that emulsion goes on walls and gloss goes on woodwork.
So I painted three walls....(Didn't do the ceiling. Don't like ceilings. I'll worry about that tomorrow)....and went back to the pie.
Anyway, I became aware of this....odour. I know paint smells, but quite honestly, you've never smelled paint like this. You know when you've had perfume for years and you open it and it smells sort of....off? Well, that was the smell. Off.
Various murmurs of 'Blimey, what's that smell?' and similar quips ensued (but not enough to put anyone off the Chicken and Leek pie, I noticed).
But it was getting to me. It just didn't smell....right.
I texted the Father of This Lot, who, I assumed, was in a pub somewhere.
And guess what? I was right!
Me: Are you with the decorator?
Him: No, why?
Me: Does emulsion paint go off?
Me: Well I've just painted the kitchen and it smells awful.
Him: It's probably your cooking.
I left it for what I considered to be a reasonable amount of time (about the same time as an icy stare would take had he been in the room) and texted again:
Me: Do you want to paint the ceiling tomorrow?
Him: I can't hear you. You're breaking up.
Me: IT'S A TEXT. HOW CAN I BE BREAKING UP?
Him: Why are you painting the kitchen anyway? Don't you think finishing the landing would be a better idea? x x
I gave up.
Now, I'm not psychic, but I can let you know what tomorrow's conversation will be.
He will come in, survey the damage (otherwise known as my attempts at painting) and he will say:
'God, that looks shocking'
and I will say:
'Well, you should have done it yourself then'
and he will say:
'I'd have got a proper man in'
and I will say:
'WELL, IF I KNEW A PROPER MAN I WOULD HAVE'
and he will sigh, take his coat off and say, in a despondent tone:
'Where's the roller?'
Ain't love grand?
And I know I haven't mentioned my mum, but she is getting there, and I'll tell you all about it soon.