Recovering from an art attack

The words crafts, paint and glue are guaranteed to strike fear into my heart.

Miss Five loves to draw, paint and make things. This in itself is wonderful, what is less admirable is her Jackson Pollock tendencies. It’s scary just how far paint can splatter. I have given up trying to protect the table; it’s a lost cause, battle-scarred but bright with a rainbow of colours and faded water marks; it really should be put out of its misery.

The carpet, the walls and even the poor cat have not escaped unscathed. It’s got to the point where we all need safety goggles.

The little artist herself does not like to be interrupted when she is creating except when she requires fresh water for her paintbrush; that’s my job apparently, that is when I’m not being a drunk potato. For many months every picture she did of me showed me laying down looking rather the worse for wear. An oval body and small eyes made me look like a stranded spud with hair.

My minuscule legs and arms rendered me helpless and my poor potato self was destined to roll around on the floor for eternity. It was a day of great rejoicing when I got the first picture that didn’t show me lolling about on the floor. It still hangs with pride on the fridge. I was now a sober, upright potato. Progress indeed.

Then came the day of no rejoicing at all. The day of the Bunchems is a day of mourning in our house. Miss Five and her cousins were playing with these small, prickly balls of fun that are designed to stick together. Think tiny pom-poms with teeth. Quite why Miss Five felt the need to lay down on these little orbs of doom is not known but around 30 instantly stuck to her hair like glue.

No amount of careful teasing or combing worked. They might have well been set in concrete. There was only one option left to us - scissors.

It took a long time for Miss Five’s hair to grow long and it honestly pained me to do it but snip away I did. From a distance you couldn’t really tell but close up her layers weren’t so much blending in as demanding independence. Never again did a single Bunchem darken our door.

I adore Miss Five’s creativity, I applaud her sense of flair and imagination, I just wish she didn’t want to spread that flair so liberally.