A Decorative Diversion
December 2nd 2009
It’s been a while since I updated y’all on my diminishing progress; the dining room intervened…
When we first moved here in late September just over six years ago, the house had been subdivided into flats and the consensus was it was more like a psychedelic rabbit warren than a home. My husband, being a building surveyor, rapidly worked out that if we ripped out a second staircase, reconfigured the back door, put in a steel, ripped out the stud partition walls and blocked up the additional doorways that had been inserted, we could have a lovely house (easy, peasy, huh?). This is indeed what happened – fairly rapidly. The dining room and the lounge were then decorated at lightning speed with a splash of paint so we could spend Christmas enjoying the house beyond building site stage. And that’s the last time the dining room was done.
Earlier this year, in the interests of efficiency and economy, my man decided it would be prudent to move his firm’s office here. The admin section is in the study; it’s a snug fit, but it works fine as long as everything is filed meticulously. He, however, simply can’t be levered in alongside all the paraphernalia so uses the dining room as his office during the week. So, that’s the nerve centre of our source of income and where we put the boss when he’s not on site.
Occasionally something just flips inside and – almost on impulse – I spring into action. Well, that’s what happened with the dining room. I decided it wasn’t really a suitable working environment for my Captain of Industry and the bits of overpainted cruddy wallpaper around our beautiful cast iron fireplace and light switches (the cruddy wallpaper, not the switches) were simply getting on my nerves.
Stripping the first three walls wasn’t too difficult; it’s interesting as it allows you to see others’ taste. How anyone ever thought a grey cross hatched textured wallpaper is a good look defeats me, but each to their own. The final wall, however (and the only one uninterrupted by windows, fireplaces or doors) was quite another story. The painted lining paper came off relatively easily to reveal two blocked up doorways; evidence of our original cunning plan to restore the house to its former glory. When the plasterers did the final skim, they feathered up to the old, painted wallpaper. It was the vilest shade of green vinyl silk on top of really ancient (probably Sanderson) wallpaper. This was so water resistant and firmly affixed I had to resort to a steamer. This effectively melted the green paint and, with a little patience, I could prize this off in teeny tiny sections in the manner of a face mask, intriguingly bearing the imprint of the ancient wallpaper on its reverse. The ancient paper had assumed the texture of sugar paper and appeared to be stuck on with PVA. With steam and perseverance I finally managed to get it off, inch by millimetre. This, however, left me with a wall with two slightly proud protuberances in its middle (like man boobs). Much polyfilla and sanding later, I was finally ready to line – and get rid of the dust.
(The doorways blocked up (note
the window in the background))
December 2nd 2009
It’s been a while since I updated y’all on my diminishing progress; the dining room intervened…
When we first moved here in late September just over six years ago, the house had been subdivided into flats and the consensus was it was more like a psychedelic rabbit warren than a home. My husband, being a building surveyor, rapidly worked out that if we ripped out a second staircase, reconfigured the back door, put in a steel, ripped out the stud partition walls and blocked up the additional doorways that had been inserted, we could have a lovely house (easy, peasy, huh?). This is indeed what happened – fairly rapidly. The dining room and the lounge were then decorated at lightning speed with a splash of paint so we could spend Christmas enjoying the house beyond building site stage. And that’s the last time the dining room was done.
Earlier this year, in the interests of efficiency and economy, my man decided it would be prudent to move his firm’s office here. The admin section is in the study; it’s a snug fit, but it works fine as long as everything is filed meticulously. He, however, simply can’t be levered in alongside all the paraphernalia so uses the dining room as his office during the week. So, that’s the nerve centre of our source of income and where we put the boss when he’s not on site.
Occasionally something just flips inside and – almost on impulse – I spring into action. Well, that’s what happened with the dining room. I decided it wasn’t really a suitable working environment for my Captain of Industry and the bits of overpainted cruddy wallpaper around our beautiful cast iron fireplace and light switches (the cruddy wallpaper, not the switches) were simply getting on my nerves.
Stripping the first three walls wasn’t too difficult; it’s interesting as it allows you to see others’ taste. How anyone ever thought a grey cross hatched textured wallpaper is a good look defeats me, but each to their own. The final wall, however (and the only one uninterrupted by windows, fireplaces or doors) was quite another story. The painted lining paper came off relatively easily to reveal two blocked up doorways; evidence of our original cunning plan to restore the house to its former glory. When the plasterers did the final skim, they feathered up to the old, painted wallpaper. It was the vilest shade of green vinyl silk on top of really ancient (probably Sanderson) wallpaper. This was so water resistant and firmly affixed I had to resort to a steamer. This effectively melted the green paint and, with a little patience, I could prize this off in teeny tiny sections in the manner of a face mask, intriguingly bearing the imprint of the ancient wallpaper on its reverse. The ancient paper had assumed the texture of sugar paper and appeared to be stuck on with PVA. With steam and perseverance I finally managed to get it off, inch by millimetre. This, however, left me with a wall with two slightly proud protuberances in its middle (like man boobs). Much polyfilla and sanding later, I was finally ready to line – and get rid of the dust.
(The doorways blocked up (note
the window in the background))
I must say, wallpaper stripping is very good for sorting out bingo wings, but it’s pretty horrendous for working up an appetite. Never, ever, ever have chocolate in the house when you are on a diet, not even if you have hidden it in the most secret place and forgotten all about its existence, for in moments of decorating induced hunger, it will call to you, enticing you with its sweet seduction and you will succumb. It’s just a matter of time.
Anyway, I happily lined the dining room, found drop dead gorgeous wallpaper (for the feature fireplace wall), decided on the paint and felt rather smug. I painted the ceiling and frieze (the bit above the picture rail for the uninitiated) leaving the cornice to be picked out in a complementary colour. This is a very, very bad idea indeed. Never, ever do this, because there is so much cutting in to do. Even with the aid of masking tape (which unlike on DIY programmes on the telly, doesn’t properly mask off everything) it takes forever. Then when the paint dries it will look wrong and not at all like the colour you’ve chosen. Inevitably, you will end up trying another colour which will entail many more hours perching giddily at the top of a step ladder with your mouth slightly open and tongue protruding in concentration (v. attractive in the manner of a ‘Peanuts’ character like Linus or Charlie Brown; less so for a middle aged mum) only to decide that it still isn’t right and end up repainting it (three times to cover up the darker shade) in the same colour as the ceiling and frieze (which, annoyingly, is what my CoI had suggested in the first place). And it gives you a very, very sore neck.
Then I turned my attention to the walls and woodwork; the painting all had to be done prior to papering so I spent another two days applying emulsion and cutting in eggshell. One of the problems of being a relatively inexperienced decorator is that I wildly underestimate the time it will take to complete a task. Emulsion the walls? Couple of hours, tops. Not on your life; you may be able to do the bulk of it in that timescale, the edges (particularly those that involve clambering up and down step ladders) take much longer to complete. Woodwork? Well, there’s not all that much of it; skirting boards, picture rail, architrave, door, windows – actually, that’s a lot of cutting in – and it takes me forever.
I was so looking forward to putting up the wallpaper (incidentally, the first rule of wallpapering is the ease with which you will be able to hang it is in inverse proportion to the cost of the roll. Lining paper (which costs about 20p per drop) will behave like a well trained dog, meekly obeying your every command and lying obediently where instructed (even when you’re cross lining). Designer wallpaper (at about £6.00 per drop) will stretch, droop, sag, fold, tear and generally sulk before being forced into submission). The morning sun was shining through the stained glass windows onto the plain wall, plainly revealing the man boobs still very much in evidence. I was gutted. It looked horrific.
“Don’t worry about it,” said my CoI. “It’ll only show up at this time of the day when the sun is shining and that doesn’t happen very often.”
That, however, was not the point. I wanted the dining room to be beautiful. I’d already put so much effort in, it would have been counterproductive not to do the job properly. There was nothing for it but to strip the wall again. So I went on Facebook and sulked.
Then I became a stripper again, reminding myself how good this was for my bingo wings.
The dining room in ‘emergency
decorations’ mode (note the
Anyway, I happily lined the dining room, found drop dead gorgeous wallpaper (for the feature fireplace wall), decided on the paint and felt rather smug. I painted the ceiling and frieze (the bit above the picture rail for the uninitiated) leaving the cornice to be picked out in a complementary colour. This is a very, very bad idea indeed. Never, ever do this, because there is so much cutting in to do. Even with the aid of masking tape (which unlike on DIY programmes on the telly, doesn’t properly mask off everything) it takes forever. Then when the paint dries it will look wrong and not at all like the colour you’ve chosen. Inevitably, you will end up trying another colour which will entail many more hours perching giddily at the top of a step ladder with your mouth slightly open and tongue protruding in concentration (v. attractive in the manner of a ‘Peanuts’ character like Linus or Charlie Brown; less so for a middle aged mum) only to decide that it still isn’t right and end up repainting it (three times to cover up the darker shade) in the same colour as the ceiling and frieze (which, annoyingly, is what my CoI had suggested in the first place). And it gives you a very, very sore neck.
Then I turned my attention to the walls and woodwork; the painting all had to be done prior to papering so I spent another two days applying emulsion and cutting in eggshell. One of the problems of being a relatively inexperienced decorator is that I wildly underestimate the time it will take to complete a task. Emulsion the walls? Couple of hours, tops. Not on your life; you may be able to do the bulk of it in that timescale, the edges (particularly those that involve clambering up and down step ladders) take much longer to complete. Woodwork? Well, there’s not all that much of it; skirting boards, picture rail, architrave, door, windows – actually, that’s a lot of cutting in – and it takes me forever.
I was so looking forward to putting up the wallpaper (incidentally, the first rule of wallpapering is the ease with which you will be able to hang it is in inverse proportion to the cost of the roll. Lining paper (which costs about 20p per drop) will behave like a well trained dog, meekly obeying your every command and lying obediently where instructed (even when you’re cross lining). Designer wallpaper (at about £6.00 per drop) will stretch, droop, sag, fold, tear and generally sulk before being forced into submission). The morning sun was shining through the stained glass windows onto the plain wall, plainly revealing the man boobs still very much in evidence. I was gutted. It looked horrific.
“Don’t worry about it,” said my CoI. “It’ll only show up at this time of the day when the sun is shining and that doesn’t happen very often.”
That, however, was not the point. I wanted the dining room to be beautiful. I’d already put so much effort in, it would have been counterproductive not to do the job properly. There was nothing for it but to strip the wall again. So I went on Facebook and sulked.
Then I became a stripper again, reminding myself how good this was for my bingo wings.
The dining room in ‘emergency
decorations’ mode (note the
smooth wall at the back – not
a man boob in sight).
a man boob in sight).
The CoI returned to find me grumpily stuffing the detritus into a bin bag and a newly redenuded wall. “You decided to go for it,” he gently observed. I grunted, “I think we need a plasterer. I’m not as good as I thought I was with the polyfilla.” Mild panic registered in his eyes; decent plasterers are like gold dust – pretty rare and very expensive. He rubbed his fingers over the offending profile. “It doesn’t feel too bad. Perhaps another go with the polyfilla and cross lining would do the trick.” I sighed. I knew who would be doing the filling and cross lining and it wouldn’t be him. “I think it’s time for a large glass of wine,” I said. He didn’t need to be told twice.
The following day I went to B & Q and purchased a tub of ready mixed skim coat: apply with a brush and smooth – un morçeau de gateau allegedly. I spread it far and wide, smoothed it as well as I could and let it dry. In the interests of doing the job properly, I then used the orbital sander. This was a very big mistake. I didn’t have the Velcro backed sanding sheets so attached the ordinary kind – which seemed to orbit independently of the base plate and then suddenly fracture. It was also extremely heavy and bulky and vibrated so much it numbed my fingers (and tried to escape from my grasp – it was like wrestling with a growling, truculent tiger cub). The net result of this was an incredible amount of torn sandpaper sheets, mountains of dust and not much evidence of smoothing. It was just too depressing for words. I then found the palm sander which, although much smaller and more manageable, seemed to be more effective. Result! A couple of hours later, I emerged looking as if I had been decorating in a blizzard but with considerably smoother walls. I was ready to cross line.
Although it is a universally acknowledged fact that the first rule of wallpaper applies, the second rule is that cross lining at height should never be attempted solo unless you happen to be in excess of six feet tall and have a proper trestle. Not being acquainted with this essential knowledge, I (at just under 5’ 4”) decided I would go it alone.
The idea of cross lining is that you hang lining paper horizontally on the wall and then add another layer vertically on the top, thus providing a smooth underneath for the top layer. However, after a brief amount of thought the following question will occur; how do you manage the top horizontal run? Admittedly the first sweep was below picture rail level i.e. approximately 6 foot off the ground, but it was still impossible to place it properly without using a stepladder of which I had only one. So, picture the scene. Me with 4 metres of sticky wallpaper in my left hand, perched on the second step of the ladder, coaxing the paper into conforming by smoothing it into place with the other hand, then realising that I am going to have to somehow move along. I hold the remaining paper as high as I can, step gingerly down, push the ladder along, feel my heart lurch as my left arm droops and SSHHHTTHHHWWWHHHKKKHHH the paper starts to peel off the wall. In a state of near panic I kick the stepladder into place and jump up before the paper finally manages to disengage entirely from the wall, pin the rest of the paper at an appropriate level on the wall with my head, let my arms drop to get some feeling back into them, then start the coaxing process all over again. It was blinking exhausting I can tell you. Factor into the equation that if you haven’t got the first little section right, you’re going to have to start the whole palaver from the beginning again and you’ll probably appreciate it’s an activity fraught with anxiety. That’ll be another large glass of wine, please.
It worked; I no longer have a wall with man boobs even in the harsh light of the morning sun; I know, I checked. Finally, I even managed to get the expensive wallpaper in place (although, typically I managed to waste at least three lengths through tearing) but the net result is drop dead gorgeous. A couple of hours reviving the fireplace with wire wool and WD40 (note to self: never, ever attempt to use WD 40 when the fire is in use and always use gloves for this sort of exercise – I had to bleach my fingers clean in neat Domestos) and a further morning removing the dust mountain and my CoI had his HQ (and his equilibrium) restored. To add to that, thanks to my mate Louise, I’ve rediscovered the Crowson shop in Buxted and found the matching fabric on an end of roll, so I’ve been able to cover all the dining room chairs for the princely sum of eight quid plus staples. I’ve even managed to order a new light fitting and the curtain material; all I’ve got to do then is make them up and install them. Once I locate my camera, I’ll even be able to supply the evidence to back this up. Hooray!!
So, in short, the dining room is a partially completed triumph but the diet has gone completely to pot. All in all I’ve lost a stone to date, so actually I’m a quarter of the way there. But I’ve a feeling I’m going to have to be a bit more determined if I’m going to get to my goal.
Now I’ve got the decorating bug; both girls have outgrown their rooms (six years and a lot of things have changed; what’s in fashion and also their tastes) so they’re next on the agenda. Wish me luck…
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