Irish Gran used to say ‘the devil makes work for idle hands to do’. To be fair that was the mildest of her more ‘hell, fire and brimstone’ sayings. Being a devout ulsterwoman (church-going three times on a Sunday) and even more determined sinner she managed to provoke a few nightmares in her time. I’ve thought about her often as I’ve gotten older – and almost approaching the age she was when she died – and my theory is that she subscribed to the rationale that there was no point in religion if you were a holy wullie pious act who hadn’t much to beg forgiveness for…
If I was inclined to piety I would have just as many things as she to beg forgiveness for. But I only think of her ‘idle hands’ saying when I find myself truly regretting starting a diy project…
Apologies – there’s going to be no confession of the kinky, immoral, drunken or drugged but entertaining kind in this blog entry. Just a tale of how it’s best to think at least three times before peeling off that flake of gloss paint on the door lintel…
I peeled the bloody thing. And before I knew it I was peeling the next bit. Then looking for a knife. Then sending the kids to the basement for a paint scraper. Then feeling the ache in my shoulders and arms as the scraper hit resistance all too soon. Then deciding on a Homebase trip for sandpaper and wire wool and sugarsoap and eggshell paint…
What possessed me?
Why did I start?
I’ve had dirty looks from R since the first peel. His comment ‘what the f* did you start that for?’ has resonated with good old common-sense since the second he said it.
So, I am having a tea-break…and glancing grimly over at the dark stained wood that has emerged from under years and layers of magnolia gloss…and wondering how I can take a short-cut out of this latest diy daftness.
Impaled on the thistle 