Hello dear Off-Topicers,
Well, I seem to be starting the new year here in February and in doing so have missed thanking many of you for keeping me company here for a whole year (my first newsletter was 19th January) 💛.
I hadn’t gone into 2023 with DIY on my agenda, but sometimes it only takes one thing to ignite the spark. ln this case, a threadbare chair in need of reupholstery (I could have said it was literally threadbare and that would have been an entirely proper use of the word). Somehow, that was all it took for the first 36 evenings of my year to become dominated by giant tubs of polyfilla and tins of paint.1
Anyway, the chair. Even my husband doesn’t know why he’s had such an allergy to desks, but every day for the last six years he’s sat down to work in an armchair I was given for my birthday (Yes, like Goldilocks. Although for anyone who read the Russell Hoban Frances books as a child, it also made me think of the story where Frances gives her little sister a yo-yo she’s too short to use. Although the chair was actually a gift from my parents. And I do have a bottom, so could have used the chair). Anyway, on seeing with fresh eyes how he’d destroyed it (his bottom could double as a shredder, but more of that later)2, and not wanting a repeat performance, he decided to transition to working at a desk like a normal person. This, he decided, would require our tiny box room to undergo a makeover first though.
I can’t remember quite what prompted it, but a few summers ago, my husband told us what his house would be like if we were ever to get divorced (this was a more lighthearted discussion than it sounds). His description made me long for that imagined space so much, I asked if we could split up and both go and live there instead. So with this in mind, when it came to his office, I said he should make all the design decisions solo, because I really wanted to see what kind of weird magic he might sprinkle over our house when left to his own devices.
He set off to the paint shop alone one Saturday morning (mood: unsettlingly jaunty), and ten minutes later an image of a wooden paint swatch appeared on my phone with the words, ‘Do you like this?’ He’d deliberately cut off the name, but it turned out to be called ‘Tea with Florence’, and he told me he’d picked it on that basis, even though there were actually two other colours he liked more. While I was pleased that after 26 years my name still has the power to sell paint to him, I was also quite disturbed by this as a criteria for decision-making and started to doubt his vision for his imaginary house. ‘But this will be so good,’ he told me. ‘And you can actually come and drink tea in my office!’ Reader, you may insert Munch’s scream face right here; I was not reassured.
But it’s turned out to look irritatingly wonderful. Here’s a light-pull I found for him on Etsy, pictured against his Florence-coloured paint - he’d wanted a teacup (!?), but we decided a vintage bobbin was the next best thing (on the basis that it seemed like either me or tea was the theme for his room by this point). For his birthday, I also gave him some shelves made from old scaffolding boards and a desk made from recycled wooden pallet crates - that might sound like I raided a junkyard, but this company had already transformed them into things of beauty. Highly recommended.
Anyway, the initial spark of the threadbare chair then turned into some kind of forest fire when, before I’d even finished that room, my son took up my offer to redecorate his room, too (it’s an offer I’ve been making for over a decade, but sometimes you just need a frayed linen chair to get the ball rolling). His room was dominated by some intensely ugly floor to ceiling wardrobes built into each alcove. We’d painted them white when we first moved in sixteen years ago, but it had done little to improve them3. And they were so cavernous, he couldn’t fill them with the paraphernalia of childhood alone…so I also stored all our paperwork in them. And when I say all, I mean everything from the payslips hoarded from my very first job, to letters and cards from family and friends.
In trying to rid myself of this paper mound (although not the cards and letters), I decided to borrow a paper shredder. It turns out that shredders aren't as efficient as my husband’s bottom in destroying things4. Despite them being designed to do that specific thing, Google makes it seem widely accepted that they will mostly not do it. Instead, they will shred for one minute; overheat; switch off for half an hour to cool down; then restart with no warning at the most shocking volume, scaring me half to death. It’s been fun.
After delivering two carloads of old books and toys to the nearest charity shop (don’t you love going past the next day and seeing your stuff outside? I felt so happy thinking my son’s stilts might have found a new home by the evening) and a trip to the tip (which I was delighted to find is now mostly a recycling centre where everything can be left in very specific designated areas for repurposing), we finally began taking apart the massive cupboards which the previous occupant had welded in place. Our estate agent once described him as ‘meticulous’, and he really was. The kind of man who took radiators off walls before wallpapering; secured things in place with not just visible screws, but a great many hidden ones too; and who, on gluing cork board tiles to a chimney breast (!!!), even subjected the area behind the plug sockets to this treatment. Deconstruction lasted for days, and great chunks of wall were lost in removing the cork-board. But I discovered that a) I have exceptional skills when it comes to polyfilla b) you can actually replaster a whole wall with the stuff if you have the patience to build up the appropriate layers and don’t want to call in a professional. I’m not sure why I didn’t just attempt to replaster with actual plaster, but there are some things it’s just not worth dwelling on c) sanding a whole wall of polyfilla to a smooth finish will require goggles and a 3M mask… the doorbell will ring regularly while you’re smothered in dust and wearing this costume.
But anyway, although the work itself was exhausting and endless, it was also totally glorious as I got to spend hour after hour with my son, and I think I’ll always be grateful for this time of chatting, listening to music, and beavering away by his side (he’ll be moving abroad to study later this year, so this time feels extra special).
This is Little Greene’s Normandy Grey (and that’s deliberately misleading, because it’s far more sage than grey) - it’s actually already on a wall in our kitchen, but I love it even more up here uninterrupted by wall cupboards. It’s the kind of colour I could look at all day and I keep going in to peep at it and then wishing it was somewhere I could stare full-time…which suggests the fire may continue to burn once I’ve recovered from January/February’s redecorating bout.
What have you been up to this past month or so? I’d love to hear.
With love and thanks for reading,
Florence x
Ps. With thanks to lovely Neve for nudging me to get on with this newsletter 💛. Although I’m not sure this is quite the subject matter she was hoping for ;)
If you’re wondering what I’ve been doing with my evenings since: I had about a week of not knowing quite what to do - it felt so shocking to have free time again. And since then, I’ve been watching Happy Valley and reading (my next newsletter might actually have some books in it).
I seem to be mentioning bottoms a lot. If you’re new here, please don’t be put off (or hope it’s always going to be like this. Weirdo). I normally strike a much more even tone - I don’t know quite what’s happened today.
My son: I don’t understand why you didn’t take the cupboards out when we first moved in. Me: because you were 2.5 years old and the entire house was as hideous as the cupboards; we had enough to do. Although even I can’t work out how it’s taken 16 years to get to this point 🙈.
Goodness. It’s absolutely INCESSANT 🍑!
I was tickled to see your newsletter in my email yesterday. I always look forward to it; I enjoy your lively writing style, particularly the pithy asides. I absolutely love both colors you've chosen for paint. As much work as it is, paint is the quickest way to transform a room and set a mood. When we moved into our house 15 years ago I painted every.single.room - my favorite is a color called Baby Turtle - and now I can't believe I did it. Who was that person with all that energy? Looking forward to more of your writing and I think you should name your newsletter Tea With Florence. Hello from Missoula, Montana USA.
My thanks to Neve also for telling you we are in need of a newsletter. No matter the subject, we are always happy to hear what's going on in your life. I love that your husband picked a paint color based on your name. I think that's so sweet. Your book thoughts will come next time, right?