Why painting walls is like writing drafts – and why it’s progress, not perfection, that matters

My husband Frank and I have bought a house together (for the very first time!) and been doing it up (also for the very first time!).

It’s a Victorian terrace which has needed a bit of love. In other words: we’ve* been stripping wallpaper, sanding and painting (and Zinssering – iykyk) walls, pulling up carpets and smashing open fireplaces. We’ve had the house fully rewired, our chimney newly flaunched, and we’ve learned what the word ‘flaunched’ means. We’ve put a log burner in one of the aforementioned smashed-open fireplaces, installed a new bathroom (during which our plumber discovered tiles upon tiles – literally), and created a new partition wall with pocket doors. Pocket doors!! I can tell you now that those long winter nights are going to fly by, mainly because I’ll just be standing by this archway, sliding doors in and out of it:

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