I just couldn’t wake up this morning. It is 10am, I have just climbed the ladder to the loft. I’ve had to put the little heater on to take some edge off the morning chill (yes, it really is May). Right: drink tea, pick up brush, squeeze paint, get on with it…
11.10am: tea break. I return to the familiar aroma of turpentine. It lingers with the taste of hot tea on my tongue.
By 12.20pm I was craving lunch. I made the mistake of checking my email. 40 minutes of internet procrastination later and I’ve still not eaten. Coffee, cake, cheese on toast, I switch the TV on to find the Lib-Dems are officially in bed with the Tories. I wonder if Nick Clegg will move in to no.10 as well. He could take the left side and Dave the right: Sit-Com gold in the making…
Back in the loft, painting reds and blues. ‘LOVE IS AMOUR IN FRENCH’: the words spelt out on this canvas, Permanent Geranium paint on the brush. Pavement is on the STEREO-O.
3.30pm: I’ve had this dull stabbing pain in my gut. I decided I’d feed the blighter and have a break from the turps fumes and paint brushes. Watched ten minutes of Countdown and pleased myself by getting the answer to one of the ‘numbers’ rounds (both of the contestants were 1 out! Smug face!). Fed and stimulated I trudged back outside.
It’s amazing what a load of black paint can do. I’ve filled out the blank space with darkness and it’s beginning to take form. It still looks pretty sketchy, but we’re on the way. That gnawing in my gut is still there, not helped by the chemical taste on my tongue. I do wonder if this is doing me harm. I do have ventilation in that there is an open loft hatch with an open door at the bottom. But there’s nothing to actually extract the fumes from in here.
I go outside for some air, then come back to clean all the used brushes.
Today hasn’t been the most productive day.
.............................................................................................This entry has been submitted to the Mass Observation Archive for their 'one-day diary' project.