Ok I said to myself this morning enough of this procrastination (and in no small part hearing the nagging voice of my son in my mind) I have to tackle some of these jobs. Weather wise it was ideal - dry and bright but not too hot.
I had decided that I have to get the outside of the house smartened up. Repair the torchis and repaint and tart up the shutters. This mammoth task is too overwhelming to tackle in one fell swoop so decided to start with the side of the house that buts on to the Rue de Loison. No torchis on this bit thank goodness so only painting and shutters to deal with.
Sanded down the shutters with great gusto and by early afternoon was ready to slap on the woodstain. And it was all going so well - even the threatening few spots of rain didn't amount to anything and I was on to my last shutter, the small one over my oval window (is there no french word for oval - all my neighbours refer to la fenetre ronde) when disaster struck. I had half a 5 litre tin of stain left, enough I thought for a second coat later in the week, when I went to move it and completely misjudged the ladder and 2.5 litres of woodstain went flying! So did several choice epithets.
Well being Scottish and loathe to have to open another tin to finish my small shutter I was up and down the ladder, careful to time it when no-one was passing, dipping my paintbrush into the inch thick puddle of ronseal on the verge. Success - enough to finish the job before I sluiced the rest away. Good job the painting was planned is all can say.
Now I am retiring to the bath with a glass of wine and a brillo pad to try and get rid of the middle ages plague victim look.