‘DIY — how hard can it be?’ And other famous last words...

The Stefanie Preissner column

Is it just me, or has anyone else been tricked into thinking something that looks easy is totally within the realms of their capability?

I’ve been watching people paint homes since my mam was addicted to Changing Rooms in 1997. In those shows, the place goes from shabby to chic in less time than it takes to open a tin of paint.

I had no intention of painting my house during a pandemic. I was happy with my jigsaws and my 2km walks, but then The Boy Housemate spilled coffee on the wall.

When I moved in here two years ago, Bryan, the legend, painted the whole place white, because I had reached decision fatigue after picking tables, chairs, sofas, beds and the million other things you have to choose when moving house. When he asked me what colour to buy, I wept and said I didn’t care. He had the great sense to paint it all white, on the basis that when I chose a colour, the undercoat would be done.

I like everything painted white. It’s tidy. It’s bright. It gives an illusion of space when there is very little of it.

The only problem is that it hides nothing in the way of dirt and scuff marks.

I am a nightmare to live with. I am fussy, uncompromising, and too fastidious to be fun.

The Boy Housemate scrubbed the coffee stain off the wall — sweating silently, I’m sure — in the hope he could erase it without me noticing. If the poor chap lived with anyone else, he would have got away with it. But the stain was at an unfortunate spot halfway up the staircase. Unfortunate, because it’s the precise spot the sunlight hits when it shines in through the glass in the front door. It took a Newgrange level of precision and coincidence but, as I came in from Lidl, a ray of sun spilled over my shoulder and landed on the faint brown stain. It glowed brightly as though the heavens were trying to highlight the mishap.

I said nothing. The only thing that makes me tolerable as a housemate is the fact that I know how awful I am and try each day to be different. I casually suggested that I might like to change the colour of the hall. The Boy Housemate asked if I had any skills or experience. I scoffed. How hard could it be?

Insta advice

Social media has its highlights; Kate from Carlow Paint Hub and Keith from Butler & Dunne are two of the brightest. Through Instagram, they told me exactly what I needed to do, what I needed to get and how to achieve the hallway of my dreams. They made it sound so simple.

They even had videos on their Instagram pages.

I was all set.

The day came.

The Boy Housemate helped me to mask the edges and corners that needed protecting. We covered the hall and ourselves in PPE and got to work.

It always seems a great idea until you start. The paint drips and finds holes in the dust sheet, leaking on to the floor. Everything I did was on an exhale — the effort and frustration building with every streak.

Then The Boy Housemate made a clicking noise with his tongue. It’s his tell-tale anxiety tick. I looked up and the wall looked like it was housing a small alien.

Paint was swelling and bubbling like a badly covered school book.

I don’t think they offer a phone service, but I immediately messaged my number to Painter Keith and Carlow Kate. “Please can you call me?” It took about 10 minutes before the first call came in and in that time I burst the bubble in the wall and ripped the paint off. It came away in a two-foot shape vaguely resembling the head of Woody Woodpecker — all peaks and curves.

“Don’t touch the bubble; it’ll go back down. That’s not unusual,” Painter Keith tried to calm me. It was too late. Dammit.

My annoyance and my desire to be liked by The Boy Housemate clashed inside me like tectonic plates. The coffee stain was far less noticeable than the mess I had just created. Carlow Kate rang and asked me if I had crappy walls. How am I meant to know?

She laughed and told me it was annoying but fixable. Her perfect description of the situation was all I needed to lower my blood pressure.

At this point, The Boy Housemate had left. He said he needed groceries, but came back two hours later empty-handed, and I realised he just needed to get away from me.

It’s fixed now, thanks to expert advice, some filler, a block of sandpaper, a few days of silent tension and an extra litre of paint.

It’s the hallway of my dreams but achieving it was most certainly a nightmare for Carlow Kate,

Painter Keith and The Boy Housemate.