I’d look at the swirls of Artex on the kitchen wall, coated in a film of grease, dust and cat hair and hate them. Big swirls of once-white paint looking like the aftermath of a battle in a Mr Whippy factory.
They were impossible to clean and useless to cover up. Their partners in grime, cracked, chipped and hideously old-fashioned tiles were cultivating their own little eco-system. And let’s not mention the floor. No amount of bleach and scrubbing could get it clean, at least that’s what Noel said, I suspect he was sipping tea in the conservatory rather than completing his allotted task.
The prospect of weeks of upheaval to put all of this right was too much to bear, but as the grime grew and the Artex developed a fur, we really had to do something about it. We went for the double whammy and replaced the windows too, just to make sure there was complete chaos in the house.
Now, as we wipe the final paint splats from our hair and buff up the fabulous new units and work surface made of magic material which has no joins (I still don’t know how they got it through the door) we agree that it was definitely worth it.
Yes, we had to re-distribute the contents of the kitchen throughout the house, yes, we washed up in the bath (though not while having a bath, those knives are sharp), yes we lived on salad and takeaways, yes there was dust and dirt everywhere, yes we did have to rely on the kindness of a friend to do our washing, yes the cats were traumatised. No, it wasn’t fun. But it’s done!
We celebrated at the weekend with a party and barbecue. Amazingly it didn’t rain, Noel is usually a forlorn figure at our barbecues, standing outside poking charred peppers while the wind whips around his apron and the rest of us wait inside for him to hand the food through the window.
We had an official opening too, breaking through a ribbon of kitchen roll, no expense spared here, though we were a tad disappointed that reply to the invitation to royalty to perform the ceremony seemed to have got lost in the post.