Tuesday, 15 May 2012


I loathe DIY. It actually makes me sad. I'm completely pants at it. I have taken this week off to do a load of stuff around the house. I have been putting these tasks off for months, some of the tasks are stretching into the years. I can procrastinate for Britain. 

The garden shed that I inherited when we bought our place has finally given up the ghost so I have to empty it of all the stuff that has been living there for the past eight years and break it down to take it down the tip. Also, There are some shelves that need putting up, some flooring to be done in the kitchen. Light fittings to replace, tiling to be finished, painting done and re-organising of the kids room. I'm even going to hang my flat screen TV on the wall so we can get rid of the huge corner unit in the living room.

I know I could just put aside some money to get someone else to do these kind of things in the house, but there is something primal in DIY. "I am Man, the hairy hunter! I make home! Seem me build things!" It's weird, but I feel I must do these things to validate my manhood. Also, there is another reason, My old man is epic at all things DIY. Completely self taught, he can turn his hand to almost anything and over the years I have witnessed him dig out a room in the cellar of our old house and build a fully working bar from scratch. I saw him build a two storey extension on the side of another house with some guidance from a builder friend of his. All the donkey work was done by him and sheer force of will. Those boots are big and my DIY feet are tiny.

Even the smallest job makes me cringe. Don't get me wrong, I have the tools. I have drills and sanders, jigsaws and wrenches, screwdrivers and hammers. All the gear and no idea some might say. I wish sometimes I could do something I was good at and the effort from that would be magically transferred into replacing a light fitting. Like maybe singing for half an hour would finish the tiling in the kitchen. It's not too much to ask is it?

There, that's off my chest. I will now slink off to bed and dream dreams of breaking up the shed and finding some enjoyment in it. Maybe.


  1. Relax, I'm with you on this one. I've finally admitted defeat with tiling the en suite shower - don't get me wrong, I can tile and can do a good job, but this job involves tanking (putting up a water proof membrane) the shower first, and my skill base falls short of that. I tried, but got the mix wrong - it was lumpier than the porridge I eat in the mornings, and was setting too rapidly even before I got the membrane to hand. So I had to scrape all that shit off the walls and bin it. I was demoralised, angry (at myself) and thoroughly pissed off.

    Every step of the way this bastard job has fought me; one victory to it, one to me. Back and forth we'd go. But now it has beaten me. So I've hired a man to do it. Basically, it was the troweling action I couldn't do to spread the stuff - you had to be a born plasterer to do it. Me, well, it looked like I was playing table tennis with myself. The grey adhesive was going everywhere.

    So yes, I feel your pain, brother. But it's good to know your limits and accept them - mine is an en suite shower named 'BASTARD!'

    But I have faith in you, my friend. Remember that old saying, 'measure twice, cut once'. I have the plasters on my hand to prove it.

  2. Cheers Mark. I'm glad I'm not on my own in this. Interestingly enough, I just finished taking the shed down. I spent 45 minutes hitting the shit out of it with a 9lb lump hammer. Surprisingly cathartic. Maybe I should seek a secondary career in demolition.

  3. I know what you mean about the DIY stuff tying in with one's feelings of manhood. (Well, I don't worry about my own manhood, for obvious reasons.) (Yes, the operation; but we agreed not to talk about that in public, remember?)

    For me, it's seeing all my chick friends who can cross-stitch or bead beautiful necklaces and things. Once in a while, I'll get the bug and crochet or knit a scarf, but that's about all I can manage. Unlike the unnamed heroine of the Beastie Boys' song, I'm just not crafty, alas.

    Some Dark Romantic


Wotcher. Comments are welcome and make Wayne happy. Please post some. Spammers on the other hand, I hunt down, kill and eat.

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