Cleanliness is next to something or other...

I have come to the conclusion that DIY is evil. Evil - because of the backbreaking nature of it - yet deeply necessary. A day of painting bannisters has brought me to this conclusion; high, awkward bannisters leading up to my attic, which is currently empty and waiting to become an efficient and wonderful writing and thinking space - one hell of a luxury in a recessionary world.

I feel like Sisyphus, pushing a paintbrush up a hill only to have to stagger back down and start again. Primer leads inevitably to undercoat which leads to two layers of eggshell topcoat which leads to the next stage, the walls. But there is a joy to the process - the house now has a snowy, clear quality of light thanks to the onslaught of paint. The rather overbearing honey-coloured pine bannisters have disappeared and now there is a clear run up to the recently done plaster, which is turning from rich chocolate to salmon pink and is nearly ready to paint.

What is remarkable is the clarity of thought I have discovered in the process of clearing, cleaning and painting. Since the process started a couple of weeks ago, I have written more poems than I had in the previous six months. I'm even happy with some of them, which is pretty good going! My girlfriend, Anne, is suffering a little - she hates to live surrounded by the sort of chaos I've grown used to - but the chaos is lessening. Soon, everything will migrate upstairs and the house will become a paragon of cleanliness, order and efficiency. And, for the first time in my life, I will have had something to do with it.

Of course, if I let the house slide into the miasma of disorder it has mostly known since I moved in, Anne will beat me to death with a paintbrush. A clear house may mean a clear mind, but only the threat of death by paintbrush will keep it clean. I know my limits...