Monday 13th June
Some are born into DIY – hammers and drills fit in their competent hands like gloves and I can imagine they were putting up shelves before they could walk – no task defeats them, or even worries them, they know instantly which size screw or rawl-plug or washer or electrical connection is needed. And they always succeed. First time too. And every job is perfection; no botchiness in sight, immaculately sawn wood, screws aligned horizontally and exactly spaced, leaks – absolutely none in sight. They automatically have a tool for every job, and all in perfect condition, often hanging up in rows in their work-shed. They even have those leather belts with loops for screwdrivers and pockets for screws; they never leave the house without a state of the art retractable tape measure, a set of pocket screwdrivers and a pocket spirit level. Aaargh, don’t they just make you sick.
Some assume DIY-ness. After long practice and careful reading of manuals and Christmas present books on DIY, these plucky amateurs eventually master the mysterious arts of home plumbing, electrics and plastering, sometimes at the third attempt. They are really clever too, because they go on the internet before starting a job, watch You-tube videos and most importantly of all, make sure they have all the tools and equipment before they start. Talented amateurs, they do a pretty good job, though they may occasionally have to resort to phoning a plumber or electrician. However they watch what these experts are doing, and next time do it themselves. I have nothing but praise (and a little envy) for these guys.
Some have DIY thrust upon them. Either through lack of money, or a totally naïve sense of how difficult a task is, or an over-zealous wife who nags him into submission, our hero sets out full of a confidence sadly misplaced and a bare minimum of often rusty or blunt tools and manages to bodge everything. Shelves tilt at crazy angles, plastic joints that should clip together leak as soon as the water is turned on, electric plugs go bang, and pots of pollyfilla are thrown at the smallest crack meaning the whole wall needs re-plastering and they get far more paint on themselves than the wall. Cuts and grazes mean nothing as he bravely soldiers on. The third time the hole is drilled, or the shelf is sanded, or the wall painted – he stands back, hands on hips and admires his work. “Okay, it’s not perfect, but nobody will really notice I am sure” he thinks, and then as the enormity of his crimes descends like a dark cloud on his shoulders he swears to himself to get an expert in next time. He tosses his crappy tools in a cardboard box and tucks it away at the back of the garage. He hates DIY; I feel sorry for this guy.
Three guesses which category I fall into.