A
Proper Finish
by
Catherine Sinclair
I can hear my old man whistling in
the next room. Not a proper tune – nah – he just whistles
through his teeth some ‘diddly-dee’ that only makes
sense to him. It used to drive me up the bleeding wall.
I’d shout, ‘Dad!’ and he’d shout, ‘Sorry,
was I doin’ it again?’
He’d be off again in a minute, whistling and muttering away
to himself.
He’d say, ‘People like their painter to be happy. They
imagine you do a good job if you’re happy in your work.’
People don’t give a damn if their painter is happy. They want
to know if you can rag-roll or stencil or match the trompe l’oeil
patterns perfectly on their two hundred quid a roll wallpaper. They
want to know if you’re bang up to date with the fashion for
guest bathrooms and if you agree that a lilac feature wall would
look divine in the living room.
I always agree; compliment them on their good taste, even if I think
it looks like a dog’s dinner. In six months, they’ll
get sick of it and call you in to paper it over with a fine, moss-green
Georgian stripe. That’s where the money’s at. That’s
what buys you a couple of holidays a year in Spain. The clients
like it if you’ve got an off-season tan too, shows you’re
doing all right for yourself.
|
I can hear my old man whistling
in the next room. Not a proper tune – nah – he just
Of course my old man didn’t hold with all that. He got his
tan through hard graft, so he said. He thought a week in Brighton
was exotic, got sick from the sea air and was itching to get back
to work and breathe in paint fumes to clear his sinuses. He got
nervous south of Dartford and didn’t hold with Suffolk although
he grudgingly admitted that the Flatford River, proper Constable
Country, was ‘all right as far as it goes.’
He didn’t agree with all the fashion in decorating either.
He’d swear at the telly or leave the room if one of those
programmes came on. He didn’t hold with ‘chocolate box
bedrooms’ or ‘masculine pinks’. Just a few weeks
ago I overheard him in full flow. I was still unloading the van
so he’d gone to work fast this time. He must have beetled
straight in and accosted the client. I dropped the rollers and dashed
in to sort it out. He’d nearly cost me a job two months ago
with his ‘advice”.’
He was getting a bit deaf and lost his volume control when he got
carried away.
‘I’m telling you love; wipe clean, highly durable emulsion
in the hall. It’s designed for kitchens so it’s damp
resistant. I bet the kiddies leave the bathroom door open when they
wash up and the steam gets everywhere. Grubby fingerprints too –
they’ll wipe off a treat.’
|
