Nancy Kominsky

My hands are still black with paint. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed but still I look like I have some weird black spot disease.

On Sunday I painted the final bits of the replacement wood for the garage. I then turned my hand to painting gate posts. I even affixed a sign that said



Then in a weird bit of DIY Yin Yang I attempted to strip one of our lovely panelled doors. First I used a heat gun and a scraper. After much wood scorching and hallucinations brought on by pre-1960’s paint fumes (Who knew that little pixies lived in our barbecue? And why didn’t anyone tell me about the giraffe in the clematis?), half an hour and only a 7ft by 3inch strip of cleared door later I decided that much that I liked the feeling of levitating 10ft off the ground, it probably wasn’t doing my lungs any good.

So I switched.

To Nitromors Paint stripper. Just add man.

Thing is, stripping a door with chemicals doesn’t really do the plants much good and, Ok it gets rid of most of the paint, but some of the paint was industrial strength gloss that required about 540 coats of paint stripper.

4hrs and a tin of Nitromors later I’d managed to strip one side of the door.

I then made the unilateral decision that the doors would be taken away by a professional company and dipped.

Job done.

Except it’s not.

It’s just sitting there, in the hallway waiting for either myself or Mrs Gnomepants to get a company round to do the sodding job.

Other jobs requiring tasking include:

  • Finishing decorating and carpeting the front room
  • Digging out the lane and building a retaining wall
  • Working out how to fix new wood to rotten wood without making a pre-war garage collapse
  • Plumbing in a washing machine to a place where there exists no water
  • Preparing the spare room as an office for Mrs Gnomepants
  • Having Parents round bank holiday weekend