Saturday, August 13, 2005

 

Rock and a Hard Place

Isn't decorating p*sh?

My plans for today of pub, footy, pub, home, chinese then bed lie in sad disarray. Was up at 9am, sanding down the walls in the kitchen, prior to painting. I don't know if you've used an electric sander, but once I had finished, my arms felt like I had just completed a swedish 'educational film' marathon. Honestly, my hands were numb and I had bearly enough strength to lift my medicinal 6 or 7 pints at the footy.

The only thing worse than decorating is of course paying someone else to do it. Apart from the immediate feelings of sad inadequacy, you sit all day watching them, thinking "I could do that, it's only painting, why isn't he working harder, i'm not paying him to drink tea" and gradually winding yourself into a self-righteous fury. You decide to DIY it the next time, make a complete and utter arse of it and have to pay him double to fix it. All the time, he's looking at you like he knows best, making you want to pick up the sander and grind that smug, self-satisfied grin down to the bone

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