Back to my father’s new front door.
So far it has received the following attention:
- One coat of aluminium based primer (looked like a spaceship)
- Three coats of dark grey undercoat
- One coat of dark green topcoat
With some simple maths, I’m sure you can work out how often the car has now been parked on the doorstep.
However, being a hardwood door, all the paint is still insufficient to disguise the light grain of the wood. This means the door has some faint lines, little more than the grooves of a baby’s fingernail. Unfortunately, my father has decided he wants the plastic glossy finish that you see on the front door of 10 Downing Street and the grain is unacceptable.
Short of covering the door with cling film and painting over it, the only way to achieve this is to start again. Consequently he has taken the sander to the door and stripped all the paint from it till it is as bare as a newly peeled twig. He now intends to continue sanding the wood away, as if he were a makeup artist, tasked with achieving a flawless foundation.
All this might just be reasonable – in an over the top, OCD sort of way – if it weren’t for three main factors:
- To sand the door he removes it from its hinges and lays it flat over trestles
- It’s hardwood and bloomin’ heavy
- He has a bad back
I know that lots of people have bad backs, but my father has been flat on his for 5 weeks, from a few days before Christmas till a month ago. Literally. Was in absolute agony, unable to stand, move, sit or even lie down. Then over the course of 24 hours, the pain miraculously scarpers, taking with it any resolution he made to take things easy.
I thought teenagers were awkward but they’re really quite sensible compared to a parent en route to his second childhood.
Suggestions on a post card please.
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