I learned DIY from necessity.
I had to decorate and furnish our whole house, as my ex had, shall we say, very little patience.

Wallpapering (even the patterned stuff that needs matching, oh yes!) painting, stripping paint, tiling, carpetting, furniture assembly, oh I could do it all.

I made the odd arse of thing, sure.... our bathroom tiles were like a row of broken teeth, but generally I was good.

We got a new kitchen in and as usual, I left the ex to decide what she wanted knowing it was going to be my job to put things together. Big black slate effect floor tiles? BOSH! Job done. The wall behind the cooker was my crowning achievement, a chequered black and white pattern of mini tiles, it looked great! "We" decided to tile halfway up the other walls and paint the rest. But there was a problem.

Either side of the windowsill, above the sink, the tiles had to be cut into an impossible shape. Every! Single! Time! I tried they would snap. An angle grinder was out, it shattered the tiles. Tile pinchers wouldn't work. The tile saw meant ages of arm-aching sawing before *tink*. AAAAAARGH *SMASH* *SMASH* *SMASH*. Cutting smaller tiles to fill in the gap was also out, the kitchen looked great and doing that would have meant a lifetime of being whinged at about it.

It would also have meant admitting defeat.

Box after box of tiles were destroyed. When I got kicked out about 6 months later, they were still there, staring out like cavities.

I often wonder if the guy she moved in ever had a crack at them. I hope he had as much fun as I did, the fat sweating tool.

Bit of bile there :)
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Sun 6 Apr 2008, 22:45, 1 reply)

I have to say this...
WHAT A BITCH! I would have taken every tile off the wall and taken them with me.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Mon 7 Apr 2008, 12:25, closed)