Welcome to my perfumed garden

Presumably from the paint fumes. I'm not normally given to headaches.

Not such great progress yesterday. We prevaricated till the middle of the morning then had to go out and search for a new spare-room door, hoping to get a cheapo, off the peg jobbie and cut it down to fit the frame. Nowhere near as easy as it sounded - well nigh impossible, actually. Instead we've decided to contact our trusty local garden-gate maker to bang up two cottage doors to match the downstairs and bathroom door (plain plank doors with a Z frame and gate-catches) and junk the cheap panelled door upstairs (the one we lovingly painted yesterday).

Which sets us back time-wise, but tb entirely h, we're not going to get anything downstairs done this trip anyway. We're going to need more time off to finish the place.

Mark's been painting the woodwork in the spare since 6.30am - hence the paint-fumes, hence the headache. He's going out at midday and won't feel inclined to start again when he gets back. I'm rather slower to get going but I'll be at it till six at least I expect and I needs my coffee first.

And last night I dreamed what seemed to me, at the time, the perfect plot. It was wonderful; twisty and exciting and mystic but it's faded away with the light of day. Ah... It was probably crap anyway (they always are)

Anyway, pressing on. We must finish the work today so we can clean and put everything back tomorrow then I'm off to fangirl with alibongo on Friday. There's still a fair bit to do. I feel today could be something of a trial. Anything good on the radio...? (o:

So I'm taking a break. Downing an apricot smoothie, awaiting a  quorn sausage sarnie - current status; still on the grill.

The ticky list so far;

* The second coat ragged on to the bedroom walls, one more coat to do and the bedroom, she is finished.

* I've got the second coat on the spare room, when that's dried a bit (so I don't snag it) I have the ceiling to paint - 2 coats. Yuk. The worst job of all. )o:

But sausage sandwich first. Then back to the fray. I'm more than a bit fed up with it now but Radio 4 is my friend and I'm sure it'll all get done if I keep my nose to it.

And the weather's turned all gorgeous on us. Very strange. Almost sinister...

Aka shagged, shattered, buggered, practically deed. And still so much to do O:!

I'm just taking a short tea break between ceiling coate the fyrste and a bit o' ragging in the bedroom. Once the bedroom's done, it'll be time for coat number two on the ceiling of the spare. What with the constant fight against recalcitrant furniture, dust sheets and uber-sticky masking tape (I've never known masking tape like it, it will not let go!) I've fallen twice, got paint on a chair and somehow (how?!?) splashed the carpet (it's all rolled up - how come any of it's got paint on? How come the only bit I've splashed paint on is the bit that was somehow showing? OK, so,  it's pretty shagged and has to be replaced anyhow - but not yet, you know? ::sigh::)

As I write this, Mark's touching up the coveing above the window - Drew, the neighbour's cat is sitting on the step staring up at him with a look of horror . I expect he's living in hope of being fed and he's out of luck - the state of this house at the moment; it's no place for a cat - oh! And now next door's new cat (name unknown) has come through the fence. They're sitting in the garden, 5 feet apart, staring each other out. Oh dear... No love lost there I don't think. Heh heh heh!

And yea, verily, I am very, very tired. But we're getting there. Hoping to finish before seven. Pray for me.  ::exits following scent of tea::

And listening to Mark Watson Makes the World Substantially Better with a glass of Ribena, waiting for the water to get hot for me bath.

It's done - well, two rooms are done anyway. Next visit, the sitting room. Tomorrow we have to move everything back, all that uber-heavy furniture ::she sighed wearily:: all the knick-knacks, the books - all the stuff, then clean this decidedly paint-splashed and grimy wee house which is a massive job in itself.

But - hey ho, it's done. Thank all the Gods. Is there a God of the Decorating? Vesta was the Goddess of the home wasn't she? I shall thank her, then (and if it's not her, I'm sure she'll pass the message on to the relevant deity). 

Tanned, muscular men, liberally soaked in olive oil, groping each other.

Nope, not enjoying this one bit.