After I had been glossing the woodwork for a few days, I started to feel light-headed. It hadn’t occurred to me that the paint was solvent-based, of course. Not until I caught sight of the writing on the tin one evening while painting a bedroom doorframe did it make sense. But it was too late, because I had inhaled enough of the stuff by then.
The keeper arrived to find me neurotically painting architrave so that the paint lines were correct to the nearest millimetre. I was up against the wood so close my nose was virtually touching it, as if I were painting the Sistine chapel. And all the while, I blathered on incoherently.
Apparently, the noise I was making was something like this: ‘Oh, you’re there great come in I can’t stop I’ve nearly done this look isn’t it great aren’t I doing well I’m getting really good at this I could paint for a living there are lady decorators I’ve seen them in little vans I could do that couldn’t I don’t you think I could do that I think I could I mean look at this door it’s good isn’t it no drips can you see that no drips at all the trick is to put exactly the right amount on the brush no more no less than you need see that then you keep working it up down up down I mean you can’t stop you can’t ever stop you just keep going if you stop it’s no good you can’t stop you mustn’t ever stop I’m going to strip all the wallpaper in the living room next with that steamer you got me that steamer is amazing I really think I could steam wallpaper for a living I could definitely fill things for a living I could be one of those professional fillers you know mastickers they call them they go around building sites just filling holes in filling everything all day long isn’t that incredible I’d love that job that’s perfect for me I love filling holes I could do that…’
The keeper stood silently looking up at me teetering precariously on a ladder as I rattled on like I had snorted the Dulux Satinwood or mainlined it into a vein and then he said: ‘Please come down off the ladder.
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