Full day painting today. I am FKN'd (will this catch on?) . No disasters yet.
Painting tales from the past.
1960s. R's father came home from the pub with a couple of gallons of cheap paint. The next day they painted a room out. The day after, they were waiting for the paint to dry. Four days later, they were waiting for the paint to dry. A week later they were waiting for the paint to finally dry.
1970s, early. My grandfather painted the outside of our farmhouse. He tinted the paint himself. It started at the front as a nice shade of pale lilac. By the time he reached the rear of the house, it was a violent purple.
1970s, late. I helped my father paint one of his 'spec' houses. At day's end I sealed the paint tin by stamping on the lid with my foot. Next morning Father was somewhat annoyed at Mission Brown being spattered over Almond Beige walls.
1980s, early. I stepped off a ladder into an almost full paint can. Of course the tin tipped over. Scraping paint out of carpet is time consuming and depressing. Fortunately where it tipped was under where a chest of drawers sat. Whoever bought the place from us, surprise!!!
1980s, mid. While it worked in the dining room of a posh Toorak house I had visited, Olive Green did not work in our dining room. Five coats of white paint later.
1980s, late. The dog stepped into the paint tray. I shrieked, TOBY. Toby ran away and left a trail of footprints over the carpet, the floor tiles and the brick paving.
1990s. I did not paint myself into a corner when I was painting the corrugated iron roof, but I did go down a steep slope to a point where I could not get up again. Closest I have ever been to panic. I ever so slowly bellied my way back up.
I am sure I missed one.