Getting things done

This has been what I believe should be called a "productive weekend."

And what does a "productive weekend" entail, you might ask?* Well, I'll tell you!

I have finally gotten moving on the preliminary stages of decorating my bathroom. I kid yee not.

Let's back-up a bit. When I bought Sparky Towers back in October 2005 (that long ago!?), my idea was to decorate it from top to bottom in one foul swoop. Sparky Ma and Pa, bless them, allowed me to continue living with them so I didn't have to live in squalor and insanity while I blitzed my new place. Because it officially needed blitzing. When I'd checked the place out with the estate agent, it looked pretty mank. I'll be honest, the crazy bitch** that lived here before me needed some help. She must've been colour-blind, or simply just blind, because downstairs was painted in some vile light-blue colour that she'd then stenciled dark blue squares over the top of. The crazy bitch. And then there was upstairs. The bedroom walls were a really gruppy white, and she'd used black masonary paint on the window frames and skirting boards. The bathroom was the only room I classed as 'passable'; It was lilac and white, both inoffensive colours.

You might now be thinking "so, erm, why the hell did you buy this house?" Good question, and the answer is simply because I could see the potential. And my idea had always been to decorate whatever I bought before moving in anyway. I looked beyond the blue squares and the black masonary paint, and I saw a home.

Fast forward to Christmas 2005, and Sparky Towers was ready for ME! Downstairs I'd replaced the light blue walls and dark blue squares with a three-red walls and one-white wall combo; the grubby white and black masonary paint was replaced by a golden saffron-colour (that glows in an awesome way when the sun shines in) and, call me a staid traditionalist if you must, white window frames and skirting boards.

The only thing I left untouched was the bathroom.

Fast forward to this weekend. Like all great thinkers, I devise some of my most brilliant ideas while on the lav. And there I was on Saturday morning, when I thought, "goddamn, I meant to decorate the bathroom last Easter." And now it's almost this Easter. I resolved to do something (I mean about the bathroom, not 'do something' as in the main reason why I was in the bathroom. I take that as a given - there's no point sitting on the toilet just because it's there).

Something else the crazy bitch who previously owned my house liked aside from insane colour schemes was little shelves. Tiny little shelves. Some she left behind, some she took with her when she moved. But the walls were riddled with holes, and plugs for putting screws in. On the plus side, I soon discovered that I *love* polly-fillering. Anyway, she'd obviously had some little shelves in the bathroom, because when the sun shines in at a certain angle you can see where she poly-fillered over the screw holes, and then painted on top.

Stage one of my bathroom prep work entailed removing the plugs she'd left in the wall. So I got my little knife, dug a hole in the wall, and eased them out. Then I poly-fillered over the hole. God I *love* poly-fillering.

I did this several times, which is quite amazing because it's not a big bathroom. She REALLY loved her shelves. Then I poly-fillered some dents in the wall (god knows how they got there).

So all in all, although the white smears of poly-filler do stand out quite shockingly against the lilac walls, if all goes to plan said lilac walls will be lilac no more if I get my act together. It's really quite exciting.


Some holes. Filled.

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Something else I've done this weekend that I'd been meaning to do for ages was to get out on my bike. I've been feeling guilty. Everytime I walk in the door, there it is, looking forlorn, dusty, and deflated (well, the tyres at any rate). So yesterday, after the hole-filling extravaganza, I washed it down, oiled it up, and inflated the tyres. From looking sad and dejected it all of a sudden shouted "RIDE ME!" So I did.

I'll be honest, as this was the first time since last September's Richmond to Windsor bike ride that I've actually gotten on the thing, it wasn't my finest cycling hour. I didn't fall off, but I was hardly Lance Armstrong. It was a bit breezy as well, which didn't help, and as I'm easily distracted by things this contributed to me veering off towards the centre of the road every now and then. I was out for about an hour, shorter than I used to cycle on a Sunday morning, but it did feel good to be back on the bike so I'll probably make more of an effort to do it again.

And, major plus point: I haven't lost all sensation in my groin. Bonus.

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The other good thing about cycling is that it seems to be good for my knee. I went for a run on Friday night and while it wasn't completely pain-free, it was certainly better than it has been. I've decided that I'm going to blame my knee support for some of the pain I've experienced recently; I've come to the conclusion that it's too small for me now, and might've been cutting off the blood supply. That being the case I'm running without it from now on.

Anyway, so cycling was definitely good for my knee; it's completely pain free at the moment, which can only be a good thing unless I've severed a nerve or something. The other thing I've been contemplating to help my knee as we fight to fitness is swimming. Now, I used to *hate* swimming, but a few years back I taught myself (I'll admit there's lots of splashing; I ain't the prettiest swimmer, but at least I can do it), and I actually began to enjoy it. There's a pool about five minutes walk away, so I'll probably dip in*** at some point, if only to tease the local ladies as I emerge from the water like Daniel Craig in Casino Royale.


*And if you didn't ask, feel free to skip to another post, or failing that, another blog.

**I'm entitled to call her a crazy bitch. She clearly lied to me about her reasons for moving because a) she wouldn't let me have her forwarding address so I could send her mail on, and b) to this day I still get her SkyCard bills. She's obviously trying to outrun some debts. But I'm wise to her moves! I return the bills to sender with the estate agents' details written on the envelope because they've got her new address!! Muwahahahaha!!! Cheeky cow though, just after Christmas she got the estate agent to call me to ask if a present had been delivered for her. It had, but I'd sent it back. Ha.

***That's a little joke there.