Divorce, bereavement and picture hanging: the most stressful things in life

As you may know I’m currently doing the treble.  In other word a simultaneous double house move and working through probate. This is filled with its own delightful and psychotic frustrations.  My favourite moment of legal lunacy was when a lawyer pointed out to me that in our second home we wouldn’t be able to drive a hovercraft within a mile of Lymington quay.  Dammit. That’s scuppered our plans entirely as I had my new hovercraft all prepared for racing. But some how we worked through this and survived.

So where did the real pain begin? Was it the cost of the removals that would have made Bronx loan sharks blanch? Was it the plumber who was so sexist that I had to tie my wife down to prevent a homicide? No, it was hanging the pictures.

Some couples fight about map reading. Some about TV. Some about the Roman blinds or pinch pleats (Oh, I’m so metro sexual). We don’t. But put us in a room with a couple of John Piper lithographs and we turn into Sumatran Fighting Fish. Four microns up on the left you blind bastard! Two atoms up you incompetent navvy! The first two took an hour. Then we went to a gastropub, the Crabtree in Fulham, had a risotto, a gin and normal service was resumed. We did the other twelve in 45 minutes.

Key learning. The best tool for picture hanging isn’t a spirit level. It’s a spirit level of a different kind. A double Hendricks and tonic.

 

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