Kitty Work in Progress

Daddy’s little helper

23/07/2012

July 471A

It turns out H may no longer be the only artist in the family.  Miss Kitty seems to have rather a prodigious talent for emulsion art!

July 477A

We’ve decided that after nearly 7 years in this house we’ve had enough of the ‘autumn red’ in the downstairs bathroom, and after the carpet offcut that we laid over the cork floor tiles got too grubby to bear and was unceremoniously binned last year, it’s time for an overhaul.  We’ve got just enough aqua-laminate left over from relaying the conservatory and the upstairs bathroom to refloor – always assuming we can get the cork off and get back to the concrete underneath, and assorted pots of brilliant white, off white and calico have been unearthed from the garage to stand in as three layers of undercoat.

Eventually (I hope) it will be a gentle heather (Farrow & Ball Calluna), which looks grey on my monitor but in real life is not a million miles off one of the paler pinky-purple beach huts.  I’ve got plans to sand down the mirror surround and paint it to match and who knows, we may even (finally) buy a towel rail. 

But all this is yet to come.  First, white, off-white, and more white approximations.

H is chief painter and decorator and while I cooked supper, he decided that Kitty’s curiosity should be put to better use than trying to dip her duplo in the paint pot, and armed her with a small cheap and cheerful art painting brush.

July 472A

All things considered, she did a pretty good job.  For a one year old anyway.  It’s clear that all those hours with the aqua-doodle paint brush have not been in vain and most of the paint ended up on the wall, and quite a lot of paint at that.

In her 5 minutes or so of hardcore painting she covered a good few inches of wall, as well as adding some decorative splodges to her feet, her father’s painting shorts, and most impressively, a Cruella de Vil style streak to her usually honey brown curls.  She was whisked (protesting all the while) from one bathroom straight to the other, where all traces of such exciting afternoon activities were firmly removed with a flannel, although I’m sure I’m going to be finding traces of paint in her hair for a little while to come.

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