Putting the ‘why?’ into DIY

In the process of doing some work on my abode, in a vainglorious attempt to make it less humble. A couple of things have occurred to me as I tread warily around poorly placed piles of unfamiliar purchases, my life a world of sawdust and self-recrimination.

Firstly, and mainly- there are two sorts of people who should do this. Those who know what they’re doing, and those who can afford to pay the first sort large amounts of money to do it for them. I strolled in blithely despite falling into neither of those camps. (If you were feeling generous you could say I’ve landed, without parachute, into a third camp of ‘the willing to learn’).

Mercifully I have some friends who are eminently more competent than me and have undertaken some of the trickier work- or at least got me started before having to go about their lives shaking their heads in despair at the sight of me gamely but shambolically manhandling power tools like a circus clown trying to defuse a nuclear bomb whilst riding a unicycle.

Other thoughts, more or less in order:

• Why, why, why did I even start this?
• God bless the friends who have volunteered, against all common sense, to help me out.
• Thank God I live just around the corner from B&Q.
• I’m spending far too much time and money in B&Q and not enough in second hand record shops.
• I wonder how long I’d be able to travel for on a modest budget if I left things as they were and sold my flat tomorrow.
• Whose idea was this in the first place?
• Thank God I live just around the corner from B&Q.
• Why does manual work- but not any other sort of exercise- make me want to eat rubbish food?
• And would this be any easier if I was reading a tabloid instead of a broadsheet on my coffee breaks?
• Thank God I live just around the corner from B&Q.
• Any piece of equipment that’s in my hands and making this much noise should really have a minimum of four strings, a maximum of six and a Fender or Gibson logo on it somewhere.

I want to go for a shower now but I’m afraid. It’ll resemble a trashy straight-to-DVD horror film. You know, innocent householder gets into the shower but instead of water there’s blood, or snakes or worms- (or party political broadcasts). I just know I’ll turn the tap and instead of water there’ll be an unending stream of all the sawdust I’ve just swept up.