Ripley does not understand why we're shut in my office. Having learned from the Purple Paw Print episode of early March, when paint lands on or is deliberately painted onto a surface that can be walked on by a cat and then traced at speeds in excess of 30km through the house by said cat when chased with a face cloth and good intentions, she is now banished behind a closed door for the duration of dry time. In the last shreds of hope that she may use a litter box again I've picked a room with a litter box in it. And because she prefers company, I'm here too. Currently she looks like she has to go, but would prefer not to go in the sand. I’ve put some plastic down to try to compromise.

It's hour two. I'm hoping the stairs will be dry soon. The guy at the paint shop said to wait four hours, but we may venture out before then. The stairs are now their second coat of espresso (of course...) colour, and because I'm impatient I've painted them all at once while fabulous husband is out. I accomplished this by walking up the stairs backward, armed with a miniature roller and 5 oz of port, and leaning forward to roll two steps below where ever I happened to be. It's by the grace of some bemused celestial being or two (I picture those old guys from the Muppets) that I did not pitch forward down the stairs and break my fool neck just now. The stairs were the second thing I painted this evening.

First thing to change colour was the dining room. Our dining room has old fashioned curves up the ceiling, plate rail, and coming down from the plate rail on 2.5 sides some slats and sunken rectangles. The slats are now white, and it made sense at the time to go with one of the darker colours from the smooshing technique on the ceiling to paint the sunken rectangles. Works, right? No. Smooshing using a glaze alters a colour, and the onslaught of what it was full on (to name it is to give it power) was too much. Dubbed in turn "flesh coloured discount model paint", "bargain Brampton love doll" and "fake penis", because although you could argue that the crayon it matched said “flesh” there is no real person on this earth that colour. Unless they’ve been dead for a few weeks and painted for the family. Anyway, the sight of it was a little more than could be reasonably withstood. The next day – as of 41 min ago yesterday in fact - I marched the remainder back to the paint store and begged them to tone it down as much as possible. And while the almost olive we've got up there now isn't what I would have picked from the start it feels like a rescue.

Tomorrow, trim in the living room, touch ups on the stairs and dining room trim - either before or after going to the barista finals at Steamwhistle. Because coffee is what makes us go...port helps us stop. Presently a wee bit of dry time and 1.5 oz from stopping. Am keeping my head and hands inside the mixer until that point (only makes sense if you’re a Dead Milkman fan and then maybe not really…sigh).