All Change

Changes are afoot this week. Almost as soon as we made the recent decision to remain living in the country, the scales fell from my eyes and  I realized that I simply couldn't live with the kitchen wallpaper a moment longer...or the sunroom...nor the hallway. So now, at this very moment, there's a whole lotta stripping going on!

 Someone once confided to me, that in their (admittedly elevated) opinion, there was simply no luxury in paint, and that was clearly the view held by the previous owners here too. The problem is, that although their choice of wall papers may be fussy, its good quality and wearing irritatingly well as a result.

Combine that fact with my our prior plans to move, and suddenly there's absolutely no justification or motivation to make changes. So you live with it...and you live with it, even though its not you, and it annoys you, so then you just detach yourself from that bloody wallpaper...and then the whole bloody house as well, cos whats the point? We'll be leaving and it'll be someone else's problem anyway.

 I know everyone has times when they're fired up and motivated to work on or redecorate their home, and other times when life's too busy, or money's too short, or you just can't be bothered.  For me, it was definitely a bit more than that though because when I had cut myself off emotionally from the 
house, I had made it yet another another reason to leave.

Later, when the decision was reversed and we took the house off the market,  I knew almost instantly that I WANTED to bond with it again, to make it ours, and removing the previous owner's taste in wallpaper  became inexplicably important. No matter how superior or luxurious their taste might be, it ain't mine and I want this house to feel like mine again...I  want it to feel like home.

 So finally, after seven years of living here, its goodbye fussy checked paper, hello 'soft white glow'. You see, it may be only a fresh coat of paint, but it feels suspiciously  like a fresh start. Is that silly? And maybe it IS too much to ask of a lick of paint, but it's a helluva lot cheaper and less disruptive that moving house, and I think that definitely makes it worth a try. 


PS-I've joined up with Sarah Miles at Hello Wall today-go on over and take a peek at the rest! 

Slurry- What's not to love?

As you may have gathered by now, I have something of a seasonal relationship with rural life. During the Winter, I grow increasingly homesick for the city, so inevitably by February Country Livin' and I are on the rocks -'This isn't working anymore, we're just too different. It's not you its me!' Then, Spring creeps in and seduces me all over again with it's longer days, it's daffodils, it's frolicking lambs, and its new life everywhere, and suddenly I remember the good times, and the fun we had together, and then I'm falling in love again...at least until September.
Yes indeedy, this renewed Springtime lovein would be just about perfect if it wasn't for the annual Slurryfest that ramps up about the same time. I must admit, that when we moved out to the sticks six years ago, I was such a townie that I didn't even know what slurry was! I remember this all too well, because shortly after we moved in, a local farmer,(who was renting the few acres that surrounds our house on THREE sides, called at our front door. He asked me in a friendly,chatty manner if I'd mind if he went ahead and spread slurry on the land. Flattered that he would call to discuss his farming plans with little old me, I warmly encouraged him to go right ahead. (Work away, my good man!). But later on that night, I bitterly regretted my lack of agricultural knowledge, as I wept, dry heaved, and called that pleasant farmer every name under the sun, vowing our immediate return to Belfast.
In hindsight, perhaps my virginal city nose WAS unprepared for such a violent assault, but just last week I was 'forced' to scupper the slurry plans for our field because we had a bouncy castle booked and friends coming round. This is 'Country entertaining 101' right here People -'Under no circumstances host a party downwind of a recently slurried field.' But Loverboy, guilty at the veto, overcompensated to my horror with 'Next week is fine though, just come on over and let her go till its knee deep!' ...and he bloody did too.
To be fair though, over time I've learned to cope with the foul stench. For instance, I know now to keep all the windows and doors closed, breath in as little as possible, light the fragranced candles throughout the house and NEVER EVER hang freshly laundered clothes out on the line. But I certainly haven't stop noticing it as some claim to, or more preposterous yet, to actually appreciate it!? Let's just be clear here, we're not talking about a fine wine and this is not an 'acquired taste'. Despite this, I've been encouraged on many occasions to 'breathe in the good country air!' Pardon? Are you shitting me?(Sorry!) For never was the expression 'you can't polish a turd' more apt- the gallons and gallons of fermented animal waste sprayed with gay abandon in fields all over the countryside- is absolutely gag- tastic. And just so you know, I DO understand it's importance- shit happens and it has to go somewhere, it's part of the cycle of life and growth, blah blah blah, but it still puts me in a bad mood every time. As an added sweetener, it often ends up on the roads as well thanks to leaky slurry tanks. Only yesterday a good friend had to go and get the wheels and underside of her car washed because she didn't want to end up with it all over her driveway. Apparently her poor daughter was green by the time they got home.
But where were we? Oh yes, the beauty of the countryside in Spring, which has now tragically been overshadowed by my slurry rant. On the upside though, I definitely feel much better getting that off my chest and, right now, it's a gorgeous day out there and there's not even a whiff of the dreaded slurry in the air, so I'm off to live dangerously and hang out the washing.