Day 13

I’m in big trouble.
I started the decorating with the very best of intentions. Several layers of wallpaper were stripped easily, the skirting boards were sanded down to a smooth finish and the carpet came up without any hitches. Soon I’d be ready to hang the new wallpaper and give the place a fresh lick of paint.
All I had to do to complete the initial stages was to get rid of the old coving.
Easy.
I sat down with a stimulating beer and contemplated the best way to approach it.
I’m sure there’s a specific tool used for removing decorative plaster but whatever it is I don’t have one, so I thought the best thing to do was improvise. I first tried drilling a small hole and pulling it off with a pair of pliers but whoever put it on must have used industrial strength superglue and it wouldn’t budge. I then tried to lever it off with a screwdriver but it remained firmly in place.
My next attempt was the obvious progression: a chisel and a fucking great big hammer.
After ensuring my step-latter was in a safe position against the wall, I carefully placed the chisel against the corner angle and gave it an almighty thump.
A large chunk of ceiling fell off.

You know the sound a horse makes when it’s got a lump of food stuck in its throat? Well, that’s the noise I made.
For a moment I froze like a startled deer caught in a car’s headlights as the full horror of the situation hit me. Rather than decorating the room I was demolishing it.
The entire house could be reduced to a pile of rubble by Thursday afternoon at this rate.
I composed myself and figured the best thing to do was repair the damage, before carrying on with a little more care. Luckily I had a tube of Loctite and set to work gluing all the bits of ceiling back together. The problem is that both the coving and ceiling are made of white plaster and I can’t figure out which pieces belong together.
The resulting composition didn’t fit.
I shall not bore you with the details but quite obviously I couldn’t inflict any more damage without signing my own death warrant with the wife, so a brief scan of the Yellow Pages engaged the life saving services of a plasterer. The only downside to this is that he is unable to start work until tomorrow. Usually I am able to cover my indiscretions with some fast-talking (usually blaming the cat), but this is one that couldn’t possibly be believed by even the most creative of lies.
A bottle of wine and box of chocolates are duly purchased in the hope of keeping the wife’s responses to verbal attacks rather than physical ones and for a couple of hours I practice my best puppy dog look in the mirror. You may be asking yourselves how low I’m prepared to stoop; the answer is simple: lower than a rattlesnakes balls in order to keep my own.
If tomorrows post is written from home rather than a hospital ward you’ll know I got a way with it.

Thankfully there is a positive point to my day and it concerns the lunchtime freeroll. I finished 91st and increased the bankroll by an enormous $0.14. I was quite happy with this placement, as there were so many donks all the decent players were getting trampled in the stampede, but at least I’m now facing dollars rather than cents.

I just keep my fingers crossed that my balls are still facing my zipper rather than my backbone by this time tomorrow.

Starting bank: $0.
Current bank: $0.87

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