The dog made me write this blog
My life has been dominated lately by dauntingly vast tubs of paint and all the messy apparatus and detritus they inevitably entrain: step ladders, brushes, rollers, furniture chaotically out of place, things hard to find, and paint-flecked everything, with so many stickily discarded kitchen towels strewn about the place you’d think you must be in a teenager’s bedroom after a ten-cum porn binge. But no, the white stuff was just emulsion, not emission, and the only stiffies have been brushes I failed to clean thoroughly after use. Yes, I did say “I”. Instead of “getting a man in” to do the …