29. Sep, 2016


 Don't let the title fool you. I don't home make. Husband is more domesticated than I'll ever be. He left home for university aged eighteen and learned on the job. I, on the other hand, never showed any inclination towards learning the art of buying meat from the butcher (did you know that breaking the bone on a joint was simply so that the housewife could fit the darn thing into the baking tin? Neither do lots of ppl...) caring for kids (except babysitting in late teens - earning a few bob for watching tv and hoping that said child doesn't wake up...), or cooking. I dreaded the day mother would be ill and I'd have to cook (never considering that dad or older brothers should do so). Judgements of family etcetc... When she actually  became ill, which was hardly ever cuz she was like that, when I was at secondary school, I vaguely remember her in her dressing gown, in the kitchen, instructing me on how to get the kitchen boiler going. That was is. My total and final instruction in la domestics. I think mother finally gave up on me.

     Anyway, my point is that today, fully recovered, I now look round our joint and can see how neglected it is. Fact remains that Husband was too busy working, looking after the kids, and worrying about me. I was too busy looking after the kids, trying to be creative, and feeling depressed and anxious. This went on, in fits and starts, for thirty years. The house barely got a look in. Just about managed to keep the loo and kitchen reasonable, sort of. I'm now inspecting our humble abode with fresh eyes, and it ain't a pretty site. Thirty years of neglect, by and large, has infiltrated lots of nooks and crannies. BUT - big 'but' - we're slowly working our way round and slowly (and I mean slowly. Rome wasn't built in a day, was it?) we're creeping round our 1970s cul-de-sac estate build detached with the largest garden - I adore large gardens! - and cleaning and fixing.

As I speak, we're - I mean, HE is - reducing our kitchen walls, covered in textured plaster at the time to disguise a crankily constructed surface and to give it a cottagy feel (failed) to a sheer smoothness with a sanding and plying of new plaster surface which we'll paint a lemon yellow or something of that ilk. Lovely. Anyone who has chosen textured surfaces in their kitchens are bonkers. Grease, oil, dust, cobwebs and tomato ketchup accumulate. Yum. The ceiling is also a lovely 1970s texture. That will have to wait.

This year we've worked on the garden. We have four (yes - four - ponds, one of which is his). Always wanted a pond when I was a kid, so built one lined with concrete in our substantial family  back garden, but the water soaked away and that was that. Husband felt sorry for me so helped me build one in our back wilderness. This one is wild. Figures. Then we built a water feature, then a sophisticated pond for his railway to run over, then, finally, a waterfall and pond. Lovelovelove...! This whole garden biz deserves a whole new write up to itself. It shall be done. Eventually.

In the meantime...we're buying new bedding, nice pieces of furniture, kitchen items (he's chief cook, I'm bottle washer) decent tools, etc.cuz we've put up with sub-standard and old stuff for so long because we had neither the inclination nor the energy for any of it. Now we're getting there, and some of it is quite exciting. Maybe not buying a new set of pots and pans - he loves them - but it's almost like setting up house all over again. Whoopee dooda!

Accompaning pic taken at the time of beautiful roses at the front door - can barely get in the front door - and some lovely stuff at the foot of the door. Welcome!