The hallway painting continues.
We've lived in our house for about a year now, and are just getting to grips with the decor. The two guys who sold us the house were wonderful (on the day we moved, not only was everywhere spotlessly clean but there was also an enormous bunch of lilies waiting for us), but their taste leaned towards the baroque edges of bachelor pad. Lots of dark mahogany wood. Two chandeliers in the hallway, with more in the dining room. Friezes. A bathroom covered in dark maroon paint and beige marble (the photos of Judy Garland, sadly, went with their owners).
And a hallway. A huge Victorian monstrosity of a hallway, with high ceilings, dark red shag pile carpet, and deep red walls.
I'm a Scandi-style type of girl. You must know the kind of thing by now - lots of pale colours, floorboards, open-plan sunny living. White curtains, sunshine, cheerful children running across fields eating strawberries (oops, no, that's the Boden catalogue). I really don't do deep pile carpets (I have a cat and an asthmatic husband. Say no more). Dark colours make me depressed (and if that's the case in Gateshead, then who knows what effect they would have in the middle of Sweden in December - I can see why Abba wore white jumpsuits).
So it's on with the 97 coats of one-coat paint. The house will be light and bright and white. It will. If it kills me.