In which I give myself a double hernia

As you may know, we bought a flat (well the bank bought it, we're paying it back at length and leisure) and into this flat must now go a shyte load of "effort" - a task I am straining at the leash to get started on NOT.  But first, as they say, the place needs a little lick of paint.  Nothing too extravagant, a simple whitewash to cover evidence of past owners - otherwise the place is in very good nick - well apart from the "significant subsidence" which the solicitors have assured us is historical.  The Silverback will have to live with the fact that the master bedroom is...well...on a slope.  I digress.  The place is fabulous in every other way  not least because it means we are no longer pouring money into the black hole of rent, though technically speaking if the world economy continues in the same vein, the status quo remains.  Nobody likes change - unless you're begging on the underground.

First things first - we paid someone to do the actual painting but the least we could do was provide the paint - (I'm unhinged not certifiable).  That said, I got it into my head to go to the local hardware superstore and get said paint (plus all the accessories that go with) on my own, you know because I could.  Have you ever tried transporting a 10 litre bucket of paint?  in heels?  And without a car. Well don't - unless you need longer arms and don't trust surgery.  Oh, and I took my 5 year old daughter with me.  What larks!

After popping an intestine and sweating a kidney out,   we did eventually  make it to the bus stop and with the bus nowhere in sight, I conducted a little stock take not that I had any intention of returning to that warehouse EVER again.  In dentist spit bowl fashion, the blood drained from my head when I realised I had in fact picked up the wrong colour paint.  Instead of white - Magnolia.  The colour of old age and piss.  I contemplated for a long time whether I could live with this colour wagering with the bus that if it came in the next 30 seconds I would learn to love this colour.

It did not.  I was forced to lug the dead weight back to the shop and then go through the rigmarole of exchanging it for an identical product but in a different colour. And good job too.  I would not have been able to live with magnolia.  Nor would it have taken less than five hours to paint the whole place - THAT is the beauty of white.  Life is too short for edging.    The Lish spent the next day shouting "pure white!, pure white!"  I think I may have been murmuring this in my sleep. 

I say it again: Life is too short for edging.