Folks, painting and Miss James are not a match made in heaven.
I’m not that fussed on decorating anyway.
Over the years the men in my life have been horrified at the carnage I can create and, eventually, ban me from even touching a paintbrush.
Oh what a shame. I’m so disappointed. Not.
You know what I mean, fellas?
It’s like when you do a dodgy job with the washing-up or vacuuming.
So your significant other decides she might as well do it herself – making you banned from the household chores. Oh my, I bet that really upsets you!
Anyway, last Friday I decided to spray paint my wicker bathroom cupboard – pink.
I laid a large dustsheet in the hallway, shook the paint can and went to spray.
Nothing. The nozzle was jammed so I fiddled about and got it working.
Half a dozen sprays later, it jammed. Must be a blockage dear, I thought.
So I poked a pin down the tube into the aerosol can. And yep. That worked.
A few sprays later, it jammed again. But I knew the pin-poking trick now.
This time though, as I wiggled the pin back out of the tube...oh fudge.
Folks, it was like those films you see about hitting oil. What a gusher.
I quickly pointed the can at the cupboard and ran around until the can was empty.
Phew, that was lucky. Except the hall walls had a pretty pattern of pink all over them.
I remember doing a similar thing before. Years ago I was helping a man to decorate.
I was banished to the back yard where he thought I couldn’t do too much damage.
Once again I was spray painting a piece of furniture.
Half-way through I dropped the aerosol can and it landed on the nozzle – which jammed.
It spun around on the ground like a Catherine wheel, gushing paint all over the garden wall, conservatory, flowers and – asleep on the rockery – the cat.
Maybe I was a graffiti hooligan in a past life, eh?