Well, the line is that any Bozo can do it.  No need to be a rocket-scientist.  Actually, that’s not true.  Those who make a profession of it charge a fortune as a daily rate.  So I decided to have a go at doing it myself.  I mean, why not???  As someone unexpectedly early-retired, I’m time-rich and cash-poor.  What was there to lose?  After all, if Dodgy D the cowboy builder and his desperate men who conspired to do a “reverse Robin Hood” on us when we first bought Les Terraces could get away with it, why couldn’t I?

My first inkling ought to have been when a friend who looked at my valiant preparation work said, “I admire your dedication, Alex.”  I have since learned that this was the non-confrontational way of saying, “Are you completely off your rocker!?”  I first got wind of the real meaning when tears were close to the surface after the first 3 hours.  I used to be blonde … it takes me a while to catch on!

So, the point-of-no-return and the realisation that I had bitten off more than I could chew were simultaneous.  Of course.  I hadn’t leapt blindly into the abyss.  I’d done loads of research on the Internet, and watched a lot of YouTube videos on the subject before I started.  But they’re tricky souls, those YouTube how-to-ers….. they never show you the close-ups of the winning techniques, wrist-action, or anything.  Smoke and mirrors.  Buy my downloadable DVD for 20 quid and you’ll be an expert.  Not.

And so I ploughed on.  It was messy, and the dog wasn’t happy.  Instead of romping on the riverbank with her, I was busy getting plastered.  So was everything else.  I persevered ……. I could do nothing else.  I measured and stirred my concoctions, and nearly cried when a brief absence lead to the loss of an entire batch of mix.  When I had the cocktail right, I started in on using it fast…… time is the enemy when getting plastered.  Well, one of them.  I muttered key phrases to myself like “make sure that you maintain constant pressure,” and “bend at the knees for the downstroke.”

Eventually, I finished.  It was, inevitably, a rustic-looking job (I’m being kind to myself here).  A couple of coats of paint didn’t do much to improve the result.  But I had an ace up my sleeve….. someone was coming in to hide a hefty portion of my work…. the all-important at-eyeline bits.  So I figured we’d be fine.  He did, but not without carving up some of the better bits of plasterwork in the process and leaving me with repairs to make.

 With just 2 days before the first guests of the season arriving the work was complete, and it remained “only” for the clean-up work to be done.  Good thing we had 2 days, really.  A week later I’m still evacuating plaster dust from the creases in my ears!

And here’s the finished result

And before you ask: yes, plastering is much more difficult than I thought it would be, but not so difficult that I’ll not try it again.  Just not next week!

PS: Apologies for the “clickbait” title of this post.