Yesterday was one of those days when it would have been good to have been able to stand back, act the helpless female and coo whilst someone else manfully took command over all those tools that I've accumulated. Billy Bragg need not apply. He sings a very funny song called 'Handyman Blues' where he makes it very clear that he doesn't know one end of a screwdriver from another. It came to mind a lot yesterday. I've been thinking Viscount Linley might do due to his furniture making prowess but then again I don't need someone with that degree of expertise or indeed quite so upper class. The Guardian ran a quiz last week where you could test how posh you are. I managed a miserable 5/23 and only scored so highly because I know the names of items of clothing and use a smattering of Latin in common parlance. My friend Helen got an impressive 15 which has something to do with the fact that she's spent an awful lot of time around horses and is on close terms with people with names like Binky.
Anyway I digress so back to the case in point. I just needed some simple shelves for the van's wardrobe as they will effectively triple its clothes storage capacity. Just the job for the other half, except there isn't one. So it was down to me. In a brief optimistic moment I did think I might be writing a 'How To' type of post today demonstrating coolly and calmly how women in my situation might cope with DIY tasks on their own without the need for a man. Sadly it's not to be. After exercising my knowledge of Anglo Saxon to the limits as plywood is a bugger to work with, a trip to Trago Mills to buy a different saw and muscles that feel like they've gone ten rounds against Mike Tyson I do have finished articles. In spite of the fact that they'll do the job, they're an abomination and I'm too embarrassed to show them off! Time I think to hone some skills. Do I learn how to use tools for woodwork properly or do I just polish up my prowess at flirting with chippies?