She’s made a Jackson Pollocks of the hall

Minor domestic mishaps have a habit of occurring at the most inopportune moments.

Take last Saturday evening for example. Small But Fierce of Ipswich and I were preparing to go out for the evening to a friend’s 50th birthday party at Christchurch Mansion; very swish.

It was going well. SBF had selected her evening garb with no tears, tantrums or cries of “I haven’t got a thing to wear!” and her curly hair was behaving impeccably.

She then bounced downstairs clutching a tiny, teeny bottle of chocolate-coloured nail varnish, toes for the decoration of.

At about five steps from the top she lost her grip on the bottle, which described a graceful arc through the air before landing in the middle of our tiled hall floor.

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It was the equivalent of a cosmetics dirty bomb – a tiny amount of toxic material spread over the biggest possible area. You’d never believe that 5ml of liquid could cover walls, floors, radiator and door so effectively.

SBF made a curious wailing, keening sound which caused dogs in the vicinity to prick up their ears, while I surveyed the paint-spattered scene and said something which may or may not have sounded like “Jackson Pollocks.”

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We paddled about in it for a bit, smeared some around the walls and breathed in some of the heady fumes.

SBF then tottered off to get some nail varnish remover while I cut to the chase with some industrial solvent from the garage and set to on the floor.

We were a bit late for the party and as high as kites, and it did take another hour or two to get the floor clean but we got there, mostly.

The walls will have to be repainted, as will quite a lot of woodwork but I am calm; I like nothing better than daubing a bit of Barley White here and there in my few hours off. Super.

But at least I will be physically able to do it as, after six warm weeks, my wrist has been freed from its plaster cast.

It was pretty horrible when it came out - it looked like I’d had an arm transplant from one of the walking dead and probably smelled like it too.

I had my first physio session this week; I was the youngest in our ‘class’ by about 20 years but I now have a collection of stretches and movements to do to get the flexibility back which include adopting a prayerful position, dealing cards like the village idiot and impersonating Julian Clary.

Onward and upwards, loves!

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