Having visitors descend on my home soon from every corner of the globe is cause for great celebration. I can’t wait. There is an underlying sense of panic about how I am going to get my latest book finished so I can spend time enjoying their company. There is also an underlying sense of panic about finding the time to get the house ready. Ok I know no one goes on a house visit and looks under the beds to see how dusty they are – well I know I don’t, but still the ingrained desire to ensure everything is clean and neat remains. Of course, dear friends, my fridge is always filled with fruit and vegetables of every colour and type, of course my ceilings are always free of cobwebs and of course there is never, ever a layer of dust on any of my windowsills or furniture.
Fortunately I identified the source of the faint stale smell in one of the bedrooms. It wasn’t that the room was rarely never used and was, in fact a dried stain of cat (I hope) wee from when a stray cat got upstairs. That dealt with – thanks to a wonderful new washing machine in the village which washes large items really cheaply. Of course no one I know has used it to wash horse rugs! (I think we creep down at night to do that under the cover of darkness!)
But, really bothering me was a patch in one of the bathrooms where the paint had begun to peel. The fact that it wasn’t suitable for bathrooms possibly had something to do with that, a slight point I hadn’t noticed when faced with half a can of left over paint from another job.
There was, in the shed, a tin of the same paint, so I peeled off the offending paint sanded around the edges and then dabbed the paint over the six, or seven patches. Simple, no one would ever know the paint job wasn’t perfect in the first place.
Going into the bathroom a while later I did a double take. Had I been that sort of person I would have literally screamed the place down. The paint, neatly dabbed over the offending patches, was, yes the same colour, but a completely different shade. As in dark purple to delicate violet. I had noticed a difference when I put it on but had declared to anyone who queried this that the paint would dry to the right colour. Actually it wouldn’t – never in a million years.
The paint I’d used was left over from another room, one wall had been painted in the darkish purple, that was why there was so much left.
Crisis! The five minute job was now a major operation as the two walls, where the dabs of paint had been applied would have to be repainted. And if two were to be repainted, well the whole room might as well be done. Which meant a major operation of finding step stools, sheets to protect the floor, finding a roller which wasn’t solid with old paint… and of course enough spare paint in the collection of half used tubs in the shed….