Home Decorating - a fancy excuse for not writing that novella...

My life at the moment seems to be spent racing ineffectually from one thing to another.  All right, I've decorated most of the living room, but there is still the Wall of Shame in the dining room that hasn't been painted (mostly because it's falling down, so it's less of a wall and more lots of separate lumps of plaster of various textures).

I need to hire a carpet cleaner too, but am reluctant, on account of the terriers thinking that, in the absence of a good walk, the carpet will do just as well for an emergency wee (they never do this in front of me, which is the only reason I even suspect them of being housetrained).

And it's all really just prevarication, because I'm supposed to be writing a christmas novella.  Well, I am writing it, just very slowly.    So, all these things, not one of them finished. Throw in a lot of hours at the day job, and you have a picture of a slightly frazzled person, dashing from place to place and getting nothing much done.

These are the colours. Yes, it's all grey.  No, it's not fifty shades - it's currently four shades, although I suppose 'dust' is another shade of grey. But I cleaned the windows (it's daylight outside - who knew!) and it's all looking rather lovely (apart from the carpet, which is best described as 'patchy').  And most of the walls have needed at least four coats of paint to look reasonable, which means, in effect, I've painted this whole room four times (excepting the Wall of Shame of course, which needs something done - it currently looks like something out of Sleeping Beauty's castle, what with the cobwebs and the peeling paint and the patchy plaster).

Oh well.  That's the trouble with decorating.  You get it all looking nice, and then fifteen years later you have to do it all again...