Day 18 - Going for Gold

BRUCE: Welcome viewers, to the 2008 World Paintsport Championships. I’m Bruce McAveney, and let me say, you’re in for a treat tonight. Ron, you’re a painting expert, tell us about the main event, the Women’s 8 Hour painting marathon, and Australia’s hopes tonight.

(turns to Ron)

RON (from Gunns Painting Section, Launceston): That’s right Bruce, hold onto your pants, because Robyn E that shy, retiring girl from Melbourne will be up to her eyeballs in Hogs Bristle 1/4 strength, painting for Australia in the final tonight.

BRUCE (laughs): Shy and retiring, you say? See, Ron, I've heard a different story. I've heard that she'll tell anyone who listens that she paints like a demon and that she's all but got the gold in the bag tonight. And I've seen her, she's lightening.

RON: There's a fair bit of bravado going on there, but let's watch the girl herself in action. There she is now, with her hallmark cupcake showercap and safety glasses, making her way to the starting gate with her extender pole and edge cutter. And they're off!!

BRUCE: My but look at that style Ron. You must be a little envious that so much painting skill comes in such a short, fat package.

RON (nods): Yep. I knew when she walked into my store she was trouble. Asking for the undercoat to be tinted, quizzing my about the best method of removing the always troublesome Dulux Suede. You notice the sheer reach she has on that ladder. Many have told her not to overextend herself, that she'll fall off the ladder, that she'll injure herself. But she's proving them all wrong tonight.

BRUCE: She's cutting in now, then? I don't think I've ever seen that particular method.

RON: She calls it 'feathering'.

BRUCE: Speeeeccial. She's got such a light, fast touch. Really it's something you'd expect to see on an oil painter.

RON: Exactly, Bruce. She incorporates elements from across the arts, and that's what makes her so great. Feathering from oil painting, lunges from ballet, and she's even been known to punt kick empty paint tins across the room when things don't go her way.

BRUCE: Well things seem to be going her way tonight. She's way ahead of the field and it looks like it's going to be GOLD GOLD GOLD for Australia tonight. What's she doing now?

RON: That's her patented rollering method. It's known within the industry as the 'Slapper'. Look at the speed, strength and ability she's displaying. I'd be hard pressed to find a tradie who could do a better job.

BRUCE: In fact, that's the reason she has this high-flying ability, isn't it? The tradies let her down time and time again. Leaving drip marks, flaking paint and charging her a fortune.

RON: She couldn't take them ripping her off for a second more. And the day she picked up a paint brush was the day Australia gained it's best female marathon painter. This girl can go for hours on end without a toilet break. All she requires is a few squares of chocolate and the occasional swig of vodka cruiser.

BRUCE: Well I'll shout her a drink tonight if she wins.

RON: She's already won, Bruce, she's finally painted out that bloody Dulux Suede Effects.

GONE!!!!!


Tony thinks I've been sniffing too much paint. I must defer to his superior knowledge and sign off so he can watch Brisbane v Collingwood.

Day 16 - in which we travel twenty minutes to a place five minutes from home

We just don't seem to comprehend how small Launceston is and how nowhere is far from anywhere. Today, for example, after studying the street directory, we traveled over twenty minutes to get to Plaster Perfection. I mean, it was worth the drive through all the curvy-sick-inducing roads (plus a stop at a servo when we got lost) because they manufacture the most exquisite ceiling roses. And in the end we got what we were looking for:

I'm always surprised they're so cheap. I mean $50 for something that adds so much character? What a bargain. We currently have no ceiling roses in our house for the same reason that the plaster work in the house is so excellent -- all the old plaster was ripped out and replaced sometime in the late '80s.

So then, ceiling roses carefully packed into the car, we trundle home. There's a massive green warehouse on the hillside about a kilometre away, and I say to Tony with a giggle 'hey, wouldn't it be funny if that was Bunnings?' because Bunnings is like about five minutes from our place using the link freeway.

'No way can it be Bunnings," he replied.

It was Bunnings. I laughed.

He didn't laugh because the poor thing is in agony today. It all happened last night at 8.25pm when he realised that he had not left himself enough time to finish the hall ceiling without missing the start of Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares.

Now, those of you that know Tony know he could no sooner miss that show than overcook a steak. So even though we'd been painting for five hours, he belted through it, only to wake up this morning with a neck shaped like a corkscrew. I kept wondering why he wouldn't look at me when I spoke to him, then realised it was hurting him too much to turn his neck :-(
I swear, you can actually FEEL where it's out of whack. He has an appointment with the chiropractor tomorrow to adjust it. I'll keep you posted.

In other news, in an attempt to give said husband an uninterrupted afternoon nap with his sore neck (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) I went out op-shopping and struck GOLD.
Two, count them TWO first edition Georgette Heyer's of the like you seldom find in Melbourne.

We also discovered that when the weather bureau forecasts 'showers' for Launceston, it means 'freaking-downpour-that-you-can't-run-to-your-car in-without-getting-soaked'. It's been raining all day here today and all we wish is that Melbourne was getting it instead. Of course I left my car window open a crack last night and had to sit on wet seat for that twenty minute drive. Wet bum!!

Also, kitty's name is Pushka, seen here this morning jumping onto my lap for a pat while I did my morning emails. Good kitty!!

Day 14 - in which we have a special guest

Tony loves cats.
And in the twelve years I've known him, I've never met a cat that doesn't adore Tony. It's a mutual admiration society he's got going on with the entire species.


So it came as no surprise when this little girl, seen here checking out what we've got in the trailer, wandered into our backyard and curled herself around Tony's legs. We've seen her before, she lives across the road and has been coming closer and closer each day.


Within five minutes, our new nameless friend was reduced to rolling on her back, paws in the air getting a good tummy rub. I should understand, he tends to have the same effect on me. lol.

Day 12 - in which we start with a bang and then collapse in a mangled heap

It's a beautiful day in Launceston today. So beautiful that after a mammoth morning of painting, I decided to take my books and relax in my new conservatory.
The car, that is.
That was about 2 o'clock. Then before I know it, I wake up with my arm flung over my head and my already sore neck crooked at a very unnatural angle. I look at my mobile phone and it's 4 o'clock. I have slept for two hours in bright sunlight, sitting bolt upright, a feat I can NEVER achieve on a plane, even dosed up on phenergen.
We are so tired.
And sore. It hurts to even touch my forearms or neck because I've spent the last three days clutching a paint rod. It's like a battle. Me versus the ceiling. And of course, any battle needs armour.

Tony laughed himself silly when he first saw me in this get up. But hey - one, I don't want to have to try and get paint out of my hair every night, and two, paint in the eyes HURTS! And that ceiling spits at me whenever it gets the chance (see aforementioned entry re NO PROPER CEILING PAINT). Still, I suppose I didn't have to don the cupcake shower cap to make my point. Normal people would wear a bandanna or something.

Anyway, afternoon nap over, I went inside to find Tony also sleeping, but the way proper people do it - on the bed. We are Renovator's Extraordinaire.

But the painting comes along. Our resident consultant, Dad Enlund, suggested we do all ceilings first and then do the walls. He's been a gem. I offered to bring him down here and set him up with an armchair, his tele and cups of tea on demand if he'd take on the role full time, but he graciously declined.

In other news, we took down the hideous black and pink floral curtains and found this lovely stained glass in the bedroom.

And I hauled the multi-painted front door down to the dip and strip joint (if only it were as lurid as it sounds) where they assure me their all organic dipper (??) will take the old front door back to it's original glory. Of course the shop was on the side of a freaking hill (as many things are here) and of course I still don't know how to back my trailor, despite many attempts, so the guys in the office had a good laugh while I tried to park and get my doors into them. Eventually they helped. But only after I'd provided some light entertainment. Next time I pay the $30 for pick up and delivery.

And just for some fun, I post you a picture of the seven foot high corn our tenants planted in the backyard, a picture that succinctly explains the massive water bills I've been grumbling about for the past few months.

Day 9 -- in which we sand our little hearts out and I discover a brand new place to rest my tools

It's been hot down here, but we've been busy. To date:

-half of the kitchen cabinets made. Discovered IKEA had packed two right hand panels in one of them. No earthly way to make that baby fit together.

After a night of tossing and turning, called IKEA who said. "Oh dear, and you're all the way in Tasmania! We'll pick it tonight, but we can only get it down there for you as fast as Australia Post can carry it'. No charge. HELLO SERVICE!!

-full prep done for painting. Used about ten litres of spakfiller and joint thingie. Walls look great. But hey - I thought they looked great before. Little did i know.

- trip to the tip with remnants of the front garden. I have since learned that going to the tip on a 34 degree day and a hot northerly is 'A Mistake'. An even bigger mistake is applying a thick coat of sunscreen beforehand so that all the clouds of dust and dirt from that northerly stick to your skin like a bad spray tan. The colour was actually better than some I've seen lately. Third mistake is trusting the open boot not to fall on my head, clunking me on the scone. OUCH!~!


-purchased paint from Ron at Gunns. Asked for ceiling paint. Confirmed with Ron that indeed that big-arse can of paint was ceiling paint. Got home to discover the blasted thing is just plain old wall paint.
Was just winding up for a major tantrum when Tony suggested I should stop obsessing about such trivialities and pick up that extension pole I just badgered him into buying for me. You can see a tiny bit of the colour we went with the in the top right hand corner. Looks pretty.



-carpet ripped up in front room to discover (gasp) that the floor boards are painted mission brown. Anyone got any ideas on that one? How the heck should we get it off? In good news, Tony discovered that the skirting boards go all the way to the floor boards, meaning no messy gap filling. Yay for old skirting boards!


-in an effort to loosen up my tired aching muscles, I took myself down to the City Park where they have a summer yoga program under a big old tree. No, they do not provide yoga mats. Yes, there is MOUNTAINS of possum poo. Yes, that provides for an interesting 'downward dog'. No, I cannot touch my toes. No, it was not the gentle lovely Hatha yoga but some hybrid power yoga thingie that almost had me collapsing (who am I kidding with the 'almost?'). No, I cannot walk today. But yes, I had a blast.

- still waiting on quotes from tradesmen who while lovely and helpful, do not seem to share our eagerness to work.

- I discovered that when you're standing up a ladder unsuccessfully trying to juggle a paint scraper, putty knife and pot of putty, there's only one place left to rest your tools -- the bum pocket. Man! Who knew being so well endowed in the arse area would be such a handyman's boon?
Do yourself a favor and don't try to imagine it.

Robyn

Day 6 - in which we faff about in a day of rest

Week 1 is almost up and we're starting to feel much more settled. Or at least as settled as you can be with none of your stuff around you.
Must say though, I'm not really missing the piles of possessions that clump around our house in Essendon like forgotten friends. There is something so liberating about having nothing but a few changes of clothes and a mattress to sleep on. No rugs to vacuum, furniture to dust, errant books to herd or ironing to pretend I'll do. I feel free.

Which makes me wonder, why is it so much easier to bring things into your house than it is to get rid of them? Why, week after week, do I trudge into my house with a never ending procession of things I don't really need? Especially when getting rid of them feels so very very good? I might be basking in the glory of this now, but when I return home, I'll be an inflatable mattress, bar fridge and oodles of tools heavier. Maybe this whole experience will help me turn it around.

Robyn

Day 4 - in which the day starts with awesome jelly lamingtons and coffee

So we potter along slowly - perhaps a bit more slowly than we anticipated due to the fact that it takes two strong coffees to get our sore muscles moving from the exertion of the day before.

And when I say exertion, I mean dirt covered, sweaty disgusting exertion of the kind seldom found in my sheltered life. Yesterday we decided to dig out the plants in the front garden to pave the way for our future garden of brilliance. But of course, in what has to be my mantra of the past few days 'wow, who knew that was under there?'
Because in renovating, I'm learning one thing really fast -- there's always something icky underneath.
Take for example the lovely, low maintenance wood chip in the front garden. We innocently thought a little patch of grass might be nice there -- so duly ripped up the wood chip (and that awful weed mat underneath) only to find this:



wow. It's like none of the bountiful Tasmanian rain ever found it's way through the matting. Which of course, it didn't. So now we need to hire a cultivator to plough the dirt up.

But at the end of the day, Big Al looked was all ready to go to the tip -



and we were ready to collapse onto the air bed and watch an episode of Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares which always makes us feel better about ourselves -- 'heh heh, we might be sore, but at least we aren't 100,000 pounds in debt! -- a reaction I believe to be at the root of the world's fascination with reality tv.

Today it's more painting preparation. We bought a ladder yesterday, one of those fold-a-million-ways numbers that creaks every time I climb it and makes me feel like I need a safety harness. Which, let's face it, I probably do.

As we prep the rooms, rubbing off dirt and filling holes, we try to imagine what the HECK our lovely tenants were doing to create the particular package of dents and smells. One bedroom has charcoal splatter in the corner and up the walls like someone lit a fire, and the carpet smells like old casserole. The mind boggles. I'm trying (unsuccessfully) to get Tony to blog. Please help me in my petition for the male POV. He reckons he'll just put a heap of dot points. I say that's just fine and sounds like a hoot.

Day 1In which our intrepid renovators are woken from their trusty air-bed at 3am by the police.

Tenants - bah! Who needs them?
Especially when they leave unwanted things behind like pingpong tables, moldy carpet, old freezers and fridges, graffitti in the garage and, oh yes, WARRANTS FOR THEIR ARREST.
lol
Not that I should laugh, because trust me, there's nothing funny about the police banging the door down at 3am looking for the person whose car is registered to our address last seen doing dodgy things in a suburb on the other side of town.
But they kept banging away, so pulling on our pants we stumbled out of bed opened the door so they could figure out we:

a) weren't Ethiopian (unlike our tenants)
b) didn't own a metallic blue commodore
c) truly weren't Ethiopian
d) had appallingly bad mental function at 3am.

After fifteen minutes and many 'huh?'s and 'wha?'s on our part and a visit by a second patrol car, they sauntered off empty handed - although not completely empty handed because they were privy to the sight of my large ass in a dainty nighty coupled with tracksuit pants. That'll teach 'em.

So of course today we really couldn't be bothered doing much of much. I washed down the aptly named rubic's cube room. This bedroom gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'feature wall'. It's got one in hot pink, one blue, one green and one yellow. All teamed with a beige ceiling. Or is that just smoke stain?
Who knows. I mean, i thought I was over feature walls altogether - but apparently I just had to apply **more* of them to overcome my ennui.

Sadly, I also stripped off the fairy wall paper border in bedroom 2 , leaving it much less magical. Although having said that - I'm sure it still has some magic left, because you'd have to be away with the fairies to put royal purple paint below the border line and hot pink above in a room to start with.

I'll upload a shot for you when i find the connection for the camera somewhere amongst my crap. Things are turning up slowly. But why, oh why, did the special 'odour eliminating' candle I bought from Dusk have to go missing?
Life is farting on me.

Robyn

The House of Rubic

Hey all,

If you've landed on this page, you know that Tony & I have crazily upped sticks and taken the boat down to Tasmania to renovate our house.


We leave on Monday, for a length of time unknown but realistically two months. Really hopefully more like six weeks. Stupendously, rose-coloured glasses hopefully four weeks.

Here's a taste of what we have to deal with:


Memories of Sweden right there in your kitchen (complete with painted tiles). Personally I'm loving the sheer cheerfulness of this little number, but unfortunately the circa 1983 beige tiles are making their way back to the surface.
You can't keep a good tile down.

More soon. We're spending tomorrow packing the car and trusty blue trailor (named Big Al) for the trip down on the boat.
Cue manic laughter....