Let us tarry no longer, my little lava lamp, let us go and dip our brushes into the pot together and turn this whole world white (with a hint of apple), or let us go hand-in-hand to emulsion all we see into a nice shade of magnolia, ere we grow a day older.
Once we were young and had dreams of wallpapering this world with truth, beauty and justice, but now our dreams of a DIY world made good never go beyond a swift perusal of the DIY Superstore catalogues that fall like tears though our letterbox, promising us a domestic nirvana the like of which we almost dare not look upon. We know though, now we are older, wiser and a little less flexible about the knees, that such young dreams will remain forever beyond the mere paintbrushes of all we can afford… or hope to one day possess.
We know our paint trays will know nothing of those luxurious thick paints that flow like molten gold and leave our walls like those of the palaces of kings, emperors and the more ruthless dictators. We will be lucky to have that thin gruel of discount warehouse paint that covers our walls like the dribbling piss of incontinent hamsters and leaves us with the hairless, hard brushes of disappointment.
Still, even though we are no longer so young, we can sit on our stepladders with a hot bacon sandwich each… and dream.
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