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I think I’ve ended the week about 3kgs lighter. Summer’s hit with a vengeance, the last three days 35, 40 and 39 with tropical humidity. Dripping with sweat I feel and look like one of Dali’s melting clocks.

After some quality time with my new best friend – Youtube – I felt confident enough to get the Poly Filler and patch some interesting post-stumping plaster cracks. Tragically, my confidence and my ability were not quite on the same page to start with, but by day 3 I was rockin it. Was hoping to have the whole interior painted before Monday’s floor sanding, but with my house time limited to the waking – work and dinner – dark timeslots, I must have been drinking when I hatched that plan. Got 3 rooms done though

With cabin fever and sky high on poly filler and wood glue, I floated outside and hit the weatherboards. I love house painting. The steady rhythmn of sanding; cutting in; the run of the gap gun; the flow of brush and roller; it’s hypnotic and relaxing. I could do it all day.

Even though she’s a 1950s gal, my house sits within the town’s heritage precinct, so changing her exterior from tumeric latte meant a Spanish Inquisition-style face-off with the Council’s Heritage Officer. I made my case and was rewarded with Council’s official okey-dokey to deviate from their fixation with ‘any colour as long as it’s yellow’ and go with the more subtle Organic #5. But on a large canvas like a house, O#5 looks nothing like the swatch Council approved. Oh well. I like it and it’s been well received by the constant stream of passers-by. I even got asked to quote on a job up the road! Not gonna happen, but it was nice to have my work validated. 

And then it happened. Was bound to I guess. From high on my ladder I spied her marching up the road, a woman on a mission: Maldon’s self-appointed Heritage Nazi – whose life’s purpose is to keep Maldon in the 1850s. That’s when she was born. Without so much as a ‘hello’ came a thunderous “That’s not an approved Heritage colour.”  I climbed down, strolled over to her, gave her a cheery greeting and with a flourish handed her my Permit. She stared at the paper, eyes boring into it, willing it to show some sign, any sign of being a fake. Defeated, she handed it back to me and stormed off. 

BC 1: HN 0. It’s been a good week. Big smile.