The Good Life

I remember days when life was peaceful, life was relaxing, life consisted of nothing more than Nestle Condensed Milk and full-sugar Irn-Bru. The problem is that these days were only last week.

With hindsight I know where it all went wrong. It was last Monday afternoon. The Demon decided that she wanted to give the flat 'a little spruce up' and that paint was going to be involved at some point.
I was up to my knees in North Vietnamese entrails in Crysis at the point where she thrust the Dulux paint catalogue under my nose.

"What do you think about 'Mount Fuji' blue?" said The Demon.

I'd just found a hidden GK8 Gauss rifle behind a railway car and would have agreed to pretty much anything, up to and including, human child sacrifice, at that point if she'd just go away for 10 more f**king minutes!

"Aye, that's nice." says I.

This was my second mistake. The first was assuming we were in the preliminary discussion phase of the project, not the procurement phase.
Anyway, The Demon has just strolled in with brushes, rollers, trays, something that looks like a Vileda SuperMop, and of course, the Mount Fuju blue paint. I'm not sure what's wrong with the brushes, rollers, and trays we already owned, but I'm not crazy enough to ask.

Now the game begins. My task is to put off the actual painting for as long as is humanly possible, using all the male tricks at my disposal. Work, mountainbiking, the pub, they all work. It just depends on whether you've got the balls to use a line like:

"I was going to start the painting, but Hollyoaks was just about to come on."

No retreat.
No surrender.

28/02/08 : PS - I've just been informed that we also "need" a new carpet. I knew better than to argue that one.