We’ve recently replaced the roof on our conservatory. It’s tiled and we’ve had the ceiling plastered. Looked good but needed painting, both the ceiling and the walls. Not a problem! My husband and I have always had experts in to do these kind of jobs. We both worked full time so justified the expense.
But we are at home all day, semi self-isolating, so painting a ceiling and a few walls would be a doddle! We settled on the colours, white for the ceiling and a colour similar to the previous shade for the walls. We went to a specialist paint shop and came out carrying paint, rollers and two paint trays. My husband has plenty of brushes so, let the fun begin !
I refused to paint the ceiling! Definitely a ‘blue’ job! I smoothed off the surface of the first short wall beneath the windows. I have heard that it’s all about the preparation! My husband used his fancy new ‘transformer’ ladder! It can be folded into two parts with a ledge in the middle. He placed a roller, filled tray and a roll of paper towel onto the ledge . He told me that he had slightly diluted the paint as suggested, for the first coat. He’s good at reading instructions! Not my strong point! So we were both ‘prepared’ and raring to go!
I put tape over the skirting boards and brought a cushion from the kitchen to soften my seat. I began to paint. It was with some surprise that I noticed the colour on the tin was not the same colour that I was carefully spreading over the wall. It was bright canary yellow! I panicked.
‘Wait until it dries’ came the dulcet tones of Picasso as he spread his paint professionally across the ceiling. ‘Just paint the rest of that wall and we’ll make a judgement call later’. I obeyed, of course I would! I bowed to his superior knowledge! He’s the scientist and I, the mere accountant! We decided to leave it overnight to dry thoroughly.
The next morning we went back into the conservatory. In the bright sunlight the canary yellow paint sparkled! I shielded my eyes! It was glaringly bright! Neither of us could imagine the whole room painted in that fluorescent yellow! It had to go!
We looked up at the ceiling. Some of the paint had completely soaked into the plaster and some, applied thicker, actually looked white. ‘Not to worry’, my husband tried to act blasé, ‘it’ll probably need another couple more coats’. That was the start of day two.
So, back to the specialist paint shop. We carefully went through the colour charts and chose a more subdued shade called ‘apricot’. My husband bought another tin of white paint because, he had decided, the problem could have been the age of the paint. Well over ten years! He’s a Yorkshireman ……
Back into the conservatory after lunch, positive and ready to get the job done. The colour was much better but the canary yellow wall would need a second coat. My husband was working on the one side of the room and I sat on my cushion in the other, humming away, happy as Larry!
We broke for afternoon tea and sat down on two chairs we’d carried from the packed sitting room. We watched as shadows moved across the windows and all seemed well. I looked up at the ceiling. Roller strokes were clearly visible and there were a number of darker patches. I pointed this out to Picasso and was told to wait until the paint had dried. I proudly looked across at my wall, still a long way to go but looking much better!
After our cups of tea we headed back to our jobs. I finished another small wall, carefully trying not to mess any paint under the window sill. It had become a painstakingly tedious job. I alternated between mini roller and small paint brush. Very slow, but wanted to get it right.
After wall number three I called it a day and went inside to start the evening meal. Picasso honourably offered to clean the utensils and I gave one last look at my handiwork. Day two and I had only painted three small walls with one needing a second coat. I was slightly concerned that we were now going to take longer than our three day deadline! Perhaps the ceiling would be completed by tomorrow and both of us could get started on the large wall.
Day three and we both went into the conservatory to admire our handiwork. No shadows to mar the view and the paint had dried. The ceiling still looked blotchy. I didn’t have to say anything. The look on my husband’s face said it all!
‘I knew that paint was too thick and I probably used the wrong roller. Should have bought the thinner one! I’ll go round with a paint brush and smooth over the patches!’
My walls looked ok. I was beginning to feel smug until I realised that my husband had given the canary yellow wall a second coat and there was as much paint under the windowsill as there was on the wall. Looking up I noticed gaps between the windows and the ceiling and the plastic frames were covered in paint!
So I started the clean up while my husband worked on the ceiling. In silence I painted the space between the window frame and the ceiling with a tiny artists’s paintbrush to avoid further smudging. It was painstaking slow. ‘Happy Larry’ hadn’t lasted long!
We missed out a day going back to Leeds to meet with the estate agent to get my mother in law’s house on the market. . The next day, Friday, I had my hair done and my husband went shopping. I cleaned the house in the afternoon and stayed away from the conservatory. We both needed a break.
Saturday dawned bright and sunny. We had a long walk and then went back to our painting jobs. The small walls were finished and the ceiling looked better. My husband decided to tackle the huge wall with its slanted edges and strange angles. If we thought we were having problems before, we were in for an even greater shock. The line between the white ceiling and the coloured wall proved a step too far!
My husband tried freehand with my tiny artist’s paint brush. He is a perfectionist and it didn’t meet his standards (or mine!). He taped the edge of the ceiling and painted the top of the wall. Carefully he pealed off the tape and we both watched in horror as the white and the apricot paint came off in patches!
That evening we nursed gin and tonics with our backs to the offensive mess and thought seriously about Plan B! But Picasso was not ready to give up just yet.
Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny. We read the papers, went for a walk, had a light lunch and stepped back inside our prison. I had my job. I cleaned the windowsills after removing as much paint as I could from beneath! I carefully scraped the paint off the skirting boards. I had removed most from the window frames so felt that we were almost there!
Once more my husband, who had painted the ceiling the evening before, carefully stuck tape back along the edge. He painted the wall. We had our tea and then he went back to peal off the tape.
Monday dawned, wet and miserable. I got a few names of painters from friends and can report that a kind gentleman will be coming to ‘cut in all the corners and edges to improve the aesthetics’ on the 28th! Two weeks time!
We’re moving back in today. I have been reassured the mess will be minimal and all furniture covered. I’m leaving painting to the professionals! I admire and respect them! Picasso and I will stick to our garden and start putting money back into the economy …… 👠
Jenny Burrell 