December and January: If you build it ...

 

“If you build it, he will come.”

This line is a lift from Kevin Costner’s A Field of Dreams, where on seeing the ghost of a baseball legend he sets to work on turning his cornfield into a baseball field. People believe the farmer has gone cuckoo. Maybe the pesticides have gone to his head. Why would one risk financial ruin on an airy whim? Yet his wife has faith in him. Like Hollywood movies, the dream-seekers are vindicated. It does not end with Costner’s character stationed in a sanitarium, sectioned for hallucinations; rather it concludes with a flock of people coming to indeed watch a baseball game.

When I said to my family I would build Kit a kitchen, they thought I too had gone mad. After all, they’re aware of my DIY past. A rap sheet of botched jobs and failed projects. A curriculum vitae that would be scrutinized and mauled by Lord Sugar’s henchmen.. My wife who is encumbered with me for life knew that I wanted to do this thing for my son, so instead of calling for a doctor pledged her support.

I was only in charge of the build; she was responsible for design, beautifying the construction. With Kit being looked after in the next room, we got to work.

“I think you’ve put that bit the wrong way round.”

Caution: Man At Work.

We’re only two minutes in and already I’m going in the wrong direction. I U-turn and take what I’ve done apart and start again. The trouble is I’m very verbal, not visual, therefore IKEA’s instructions are tailor-made to piss me off. A few years ago I sent Harriet to bed, saying I would finish off the dining room chairs. She came down in the morning and found our living room resembled a post-brawl saloon: chairs overturned, legs in pieces; me, on the floor, tired and confused.

Last year, I built a simple IKEA shoe rack and as far as I’m concerned you can put all my A-Level qualifications, degree certificates, thank you cards in the bin; that is the thing I’m most proud of. So proud in fact that I’m half-tempted to not allow people to put their shoes on it, to preserve the quality of the workmanship. So, when I go wrong with this kitchen, I consider throwing in the towel, but I persevere. The work becomes satisfying the more steps we go through. There’s even one point where Harriet tells me I was right about the microwave door. I’ve never been right about DIY. I guess a stopped clock is right twice a day.

The end result is incredible. I must emphasise how the look of the kitchen has nothing to do with me. Harriet is a Pinterest Queen and saw how some people had modified their children’s kitchen to give them a certain va-va-voom. Using spray paints for the cabinets and taps, along with stick-on tiles for the back, she and her dad have produced something special. It looks so much better than our kitchen that we’ve taken to cooking our meals there instead.

 

Harriet and her dad made it look nice.

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With my field of dreams complete, I launch into new projects. I tell Harriet that I will repaint the door that I made a mess of last year. I will repaint the staircase that I made a mess of last year. I will reaffix the oven panel that I made a mess of last year. Harriet informs me that her dad will assist me so I won’t make a mess of it this year. When it comes to me, she is a believer, but only up to a point. Her faith does not stretch to miracles. A child’s kitchen: yes. A project that could make our house more marketable: no.

Rod and me would make for a good odd couple movie. I feel sorry for Rod because since my dad’s passed he’s had to take me under his wing. Previously, I would ring my dad to ask for a hand; when really what I was asking for were two hands, his tool kit, his expertise and that he do the job for me. I would make him tea, pass him tools, get told that I passed him the wrong tool; he would ruffle my head and pick up the right tool himself. Now, Rod is saddled with me. Poor bloke.

Rod is a proper person. He knows what the things in his toolbox do. Mine is as mysterious to me as the afterlife. When we first moved in people bought me tools, gadgets and adhesive guns; hoping that property ownership would transform my practical ability. Although they were wrong, what it does mean is when people have come to do DIY jobs for me, they don’t have to go to a hardware shop: I’m better stocked than B&Q.

Given the oven has missed a panel for about a year, I look up how to do that job. I’ll need a wooden drill bit. I order it online. I’ll need wood screws. I order them too. I also decide I’ll need a work bench. I buy from Wickes and put it together myself. Sure, I forget to put some washers on; yes, Rod has to tighten it with a spanner, but it looks like a work bench. Prior to Rod coming, I decide to do the drilling- I tell Rod we’ll be needing filler and sandpaper too. Rod arrives and we fill in the wrong hole I’ve drilled and sand it down. He shows me how to do the first hole with the drill, pushing the sharp point right in, before hammering home. I do the rest and we screw into place. It’s an easy job when you know how.

The most boring picture I've ever put online: a panel affixed properly.

He then tasks me with sanding down the doors and staircase. He goes off to Wickes and gets some more sandpaper. What happened to me making the tea whilst he does all the work?  He returns with more sandpaper and I proceed to sand the thing from top to toe. In fact, I nearly sand so much that I graze its skin. Fortunately, Rod looks at the injury and prescribes it paint: it will be as good as new after a few coats.

The last time I painted I did it in a hurry in bad light with non-drip paint. It was strange: I could have been sure that would be the ideal conditions for painting. This time I have a lamp set up, the right paint and the morning booked out. Rod warns against overloading the brush and teaches me to sweep from the corner. He is Mr. Miyagi; I am Daniel Larusso. I am the Painter and Decorator Kid. Rod then leaves me to it and I finish the job. It looks better than it did before; a few drips that I tell Harriet I’ll sand out later. Fearful of what I could do next, she tells me to quit while I’m ahead.

Today I’m off to give my brother a hand putting up some treasured football memorabilia.

I hope it’s insured.

 

Postscript: The shirts look pretty good hung up.

Working with my brother.