We’re painting the outside of the house. We inherited its original colour from those who built it from scratch and I must say I had no problem with their artistic eye. A couple of years ago we inherited new neighbours who have now decided that the time has come for an external reno.
After some to-ing and fro-ing agreement has sort of been reach on painting The Chez the colour Stepney (a shade of grey – go figure!). My friend Gary, the renderer, is laughing his ass off because Stepney is the “colour du jour” and of course it is what we chose (following a recommendation from the neighbours colour consultant. Disclaimer: The Artist and I did not contribute to the expenses related to the colour consultant because, well, bullshit).
So the big Stepney revamp began today due to inclement weather on Monday.
I chose to work offsite today as I anticipated that there would be stress at HQ. And it turns out that this was not a bad call.
At exactly 8.48am I received a distressed text from The Artist that one of the painters was experiencing diarrhoea and was camped out in our downstairs toilet. Apparently the painter spent a good 30minutes clearing his bowels and didn’t use the toilet brush or the spray. The Artist at this point was freaking out straight off the Richter Scale.
For those who don’t know – The Artist is a bit of a germophobe. If I am trying to ward him off, all I need to do is blow my nose into a tissue and then wave it in front of me like a weapon.
I said to my colleagues that I anticipated returning home to find a rented porta-Loo on my sidewalk.
Confessions over dinner revealed that research had been undertaken as the first painter had entered the toilet to assess the costs related to the aforementioned porta-Loo.
Being an accountant, The Artist is trying to work out how to get the neighbours to contribute to the cost. Not being an accountant I have broken down the daily cost for him relative to his daily stress and I think he might just bite the bullet and put it on the Amex. And no, we can’t ask the neighbours to contribute because well, they paid for the colour consultant. Swings and roundabouts people, swings and roundabouts.
To be honest, I’m somewhat distracted because according to The Artist, the only word the painter with the poo problem knew was toilet. So tomorrow I’m totally going to sit with them at morning tea (because I’m working from HQ) to get the full story – the where are you from and where do you live now? why are you here? what are your dreams and hopes? who are your nearest and dearest? and where do you hope to be in two years time?
Coming to Australia as what I can only describe as a privileged immigrant and still struggling with so much I cannot begin to imagine tackling a language barrier, a financial barrier and an education barrier on top of the emotional upheaval of leaving a country you love (regardless of what has transpired – where you were born is often still home). I hope they’ll talk to me (The Artist has told me not to arrive with baked goods – yeah whatever) – they’re with us for two weeks – and aside from getting a house with a new colour – Stepney people – watch this space – I’d like to get to know the men who are making my home the colour it will be for probably the next ten years.
And who knows where any of us will be in that period of time? Life can change in a heart beat – for good and bad.
But it is the eternal hope of something better, something more inspiring, something more that keeps us all moving forward.
Love and light