My attempts to transform the outhouse into a utility room have failed. I honestly thought a lick of white paint would be enough to miraculously make the room sanitary enough for me to put my washing in there.
Not so. For one, who knew painting bare bricks was so bloody hard. I started about 9am before it got too hot. Once I overheat and get uncomfortable its game over. Alas with every arm aching stroke of the brush I could see I was wasting my time. So I abandoned ship for the time being.
Instead I decided to paint my living room. The living room that happens to be jam packed with boxes and furniture! I've been living with net curtains up at the bay window for the the past two weeks and feel like I'm in a shop window in Amsterdam. Totally on show. Although the only thing anyone can see is me stuffing my face and watching TV to be fair so not so much similarity to Amsterdam I suppose. I want to buy some nice wooden blinds to hang but I can't until I've painted. So I did. And it was awful. Not remotely enjoying or satisfying. I was covered in paint and sweating like a pig. It took alll day but I did it.
Goodbye dusky pink. Hello patchy white.
With white walls the carpet looks even more filthy so I'm going to have to do something about it asap. No way am I painting any other rooms. Its knackering. I dont understand why anyone would choose to do it for a living.
Gavin would be proud. No hang on, fuck Gavin. That prick would be jealous.
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