Handy Man

I was going to Bunnings in the city. I was on a bit of a home handyman kick, I'd taken a week off. Over the years, I'd procrastinated and taken other people's advice and schedules getting the final touches done to this old terrace house, which ultimately meant next week, or "Chee mate, I don't know when I will have the time. Foreseeable future, for sure. I'll call you." Which ultimately meant some things just never got done. The more persistent get the tradesmen ahead of me. I wanted to get something marked off the big list on during my week off.

I'm busy, generally. I only have the time, or inclination, to organise things once. Electricians, plumbers, the heating guy, all have to be scheduled to the hour, pitty they can't return the same courtesy. And when they don't turn up, grrrrrr!!!! Why oh why can't people just do what it is they say they'll do? I'd organised a tradie to finish every last job there was, but somehow I have tiles that are not glued to walls and laundry basins that have never been fitted.

So, I, begrudgingly, decided on that old manta of the generations before me, if you want something done, do it yourself. How hard can it be? I'm relatively smart and logical. I can work out how things go, I follow instructions well. I can fix things, minor things, I often surprise my (gay) mates. I had the benefit of a handy father, who explained everything to me as he went along.

I made a list and I was off to Bunnings. I wasn't going to attempt anything electrical, I know my limitations. I wasn't proposing installing a new kitchen, or moving a room. I wasn't preparing the house for a make-over. Start small. I'd always wanted my floorboards polished. Two rooms, the spare bedroom and mine. Start with the small room.

How hard could it be?

Sand. Polish. Allow to dry.