Right about now, I can guarantee I’ll be up to my elbows in paint, the house will be covered in dust, and I’ll be wishing I’d paid someone to come in and redecorate our kitchen.
It’s not as if it’s that big a job. We live in a two-bedroom cottage and our kitchen has no more than 10 cupboards in it, but it’s all painted wood.
I just know that it’s going to take twice as long to finish as we’ve planned and we’re working in such a small space, we’ll end up painting each other.
When we moved in, we loved it. It was all beautiful cream with wooden worktops, but after nine years, it’s really looking its age and we can put it off no longer. There’s only so long you can describe something as “shabby chic” or “rustic”.
If it was just the painting, it wouldn’t be a problem; it’s all that preparation work that drives me doo-lally.
Washing, sanding, filling in the holes in the wall, more sanding, more washing – it’s endless. By the time we actually get round to putting any colour on the walls and doors, I’ll be ready to just shut the door on it and live without a kitchen for the rest of my life.
For weeks, our walls have looked like a terrible patchwork quilt as I’ve daubed one test pot after another on to the tongue and groove, looking at it in morning light, evening light, near dark, bright sunshine.
What a mistake – I’ve changed my mind at least a dozen times and my husband is probably at near-breaking point.
After suggesting we choose a shade of blue, I’m no longer sure and think we should just stick with the original cream. Do I dare tell him? Best not.
And he’s right, it really is about time we started putting our own mark on the place, and not just living with somebody else’s decor, even if it is going to drive me round the bend...
Blue it is... for now