DAY 45: Buying and using tools

IN any given situation, my attitude is usually to leave it to the professionals, even if they’re professional arseclowns.

“You can’t do that” is my default setting. Sounds a bit like: “Computer says no.”

Someone’s got to do it, though. I mean, whose idea was it to move alone to the country? What made me think I’d be able to carry out even the most basic maintenance without any kind of gumption, the obligatory white ute and a driver’s licence to go with it?

But it’s getting embarrassing constantly ringing able country folk for help whenever I need a ladder, a branch grows too long or something falls off something else. Fuck this shit – I’m getting me some tools.

My first task is to build a picture frame. Really, this involves sawing two pieces of wood to approximately the same length and then stapling the picture between them. Target’s probably not the ideal place to be buying heavy artillery tools, but I pick out what I need after an emergency phone call to my most capable friend, who I’m secretly hoping will step in and offer to do it himself.

I immediately saw myself getting the saw into the bag, and I have to go back for safety goggles and staplers for the staple gun (kapow!), but then I’m all set.

“Oh my god, is someone going to supervise?” Natalie cries, back at the office.

“I knew that would happen,” mutters Ben, as I dab at my bloody hand.

Back at the country abode, I have a bit of a tizzy when I discover the pilot light’s blown out, a storm is a-gusting, and I don’t have any nails from which to hang my new work of art, let alone a hammer to bang them in. “You c%#& of a town!” I’m afraid I scream.

Keeper? Since my school FAILED to teach me the rudiments of DIY, I think I’d better enrol in some one-day course for numnuts.

I painted that wall as well.