Brush off

I am still in Wimbledon, which, I'm sure you'll be glad to hear, is still Womble-free. Laura Nunn, de-Wombling Wimbledon since 2008.

I have taken the opportunity of being away from home (yet close enough to return if disaster should strike) to have my flat redecorated. I have carefully chosen my clever shades of:

• Brilliant white
• Natural hessian

To the uninitiated, this actually means white, and kinda beige. One day I will open up the Laura Paint Shop which will not sell wanky colours of "apple white", "treacle tart", "hint of barley", or "barely ice". Fuck off. It'll sell red paint, blue paint, green paint, white paint and maybe that nice sunny yellow colour I have in my living room. Natural hessian, begone! Actually, I don't really want to own a paint shop. I retract that goal. It would be rubbish. I only have two tins of paint in my entire flat, stored at the back of my hall cupboard, and I still manage to drop them on my toe at least once a year. Putting me in daily contact with tins of paint would be like finding someone who is allergic to fruit, and beating them with a stick of rhubarb. That is exactly what it would be like. Don't question my similes!

Anyway, I am multitasking; I am horribly allergic to the smell of gloss paint, to the extent it can give me migraines for a week or more, so I am being very clever indeed in having the decorator round whilst I'm not at home. Unless he does the glossing last. In which case I'm buggered.

So I shall return home, hopefully to a brilliant white kitchen and a natural hessian bedroom. Or, if my decorator is dyslexic, a natural hessian kitchen and a brilliant white bedroom. Or if I'm really unlucky, just a pale beige shade all over.

It all seems to be going swimmingly so far, but you know me, never trouble-free for long. I will keep you posted. Right. I've got a hotel room to flood.