Lockdown from Bridport - Part 2 - Day 11

Just inside the front door are the electrics. The aesthetics need some titivation obviously. A sheet of pegboard covered in white gloss paint isn't quite the look I'm hoping to achieve. 'Off it comes' I said to 'The Undertaker' and as quick as a flash he removed it. Underneath was some wallpaper, possibly dating back to the 1970's. We both agreed it was fascinating but as you can see past its sell by date and not possible to salvage. 'The Undertaker' reeled back and swore the fumes of times gone by, mainly hair products were assaulting him. Personally I couldn't smell anything (no cause for alarm). Jack Abbott RIP! 

I had become bored of non stop preparation. 'I want to apply some paint to the woodwork' I said petulantly. Because dust had filled my eyes for so long, this morning I had resorted to squinting in the mirror and applying copious amount of eye drops. My eyes cried with relief. To be truthful the picture rails were a slight blur as I perched  on the step ladders, paintbrush in hand. 'You can't paint those yet' he said bossily and handed me a tube of decorators caulk which I had to squeeze gently out of a gun. He (of course) had a nifty little contraption to apply this but as we all know such tasks are best undertaken with ones own pinkie. The gooey paste went pink and I realised my finger was bleeding. When I went to sign into my phone it didn't recognize my finger print, caked as it was in gunge. 'Don't worry' he said cheerfully 'comes off eventually'.

The chap that lives in the flat upstairs made an appearance in the doorway. 'I hope we aren't disturbing you too much with our renovations' we said. Bearing in mind that yesterday 'The Undertaker' had knocked out a few rotten ceiling planks we had obviously made a little noise. 'My bath was rocking' he said, 'for one moment I thought I might fall through the ceiling'. 'Gosh' I said, 'now wouldn't that be a thing? Awkward silence. 'Best you wear some swimming trunks when you bathe eh'? Small titters all round. Phew. 

Couldn't wait to scurry home for lunch I must admit. What a chilly day. We had beans on toast with a poached egg on top. Gosh, who knew that such simple cooking could be so enormously satisfying? Empty biscuit tin alas so it was a easy peeler satsuma. Bah humbug. Doesn't really cut the mustard does it?

A few people meandered past and knocked on the window. I rush to the door with undisguised pleasure and we engage in a brief chat. One neighbour sent me a picture of myself and 'The Undertaker' hard at work. I study the unflattering picture wondering who is the unstylish woman  with unkempt hair wielding a scraper?

The truth is harsh