I feel exhausted and overworked (although, I’m probably really not), so excuse me while I’m overly dramatic and particularly volatile.
I had tenants move out just under two weeks ago, and their replacements are due to move in in a few days time, so that gave me a two week window to get the place together.
The tenant came with the property when I purchased it, and he remained for three years while I was on landlord duty. The property has always needed a cosmetic overhaul, but my tenant never complained and seemed happy enough, somehow. I sincerely hope he enjoyed having sex with his wife in a room coated with dark brown paint and mouldy ceilings.
I’ve always dreaded the inevitable day of receiving notice from the tenant. Not just because he was a good egg, but because I knew as soon as he left I would need to get to roll up my sleeves and get to work. Every room needed attention, with the minimum of multiple coats of paint to cover the existing hideous dog-shit colour palette. Every square inch of the property literally needed to be painted, and painted again. Ultimately, there was no way anyone with an ounce of dignity or semi-functioning vision would let the property in its current condition.
As a landlord, I don’t think there are many lower points than that period in-between tenancies, where significant restoration work is required, especially when you’re trying to juggle other responsibilities.
Welcome to my hell.
I’ve been painting for two weeks solid now, and I’m at breaking point. I’m exhausted, bored, miserable and excited about getting out of this hellhole.
I’m only just starting to see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, which actually, is how I’ve managed to muster the motivation to blog. But I won’t truly be happy until I’ve squeezed through the other end completely, with a stiff drink in my hand.
I’ve gone through situations like this before – prepping in-between tenancies – but this God awful time felt worse than ever before. I think it was the sheer amount of painting that was required that pushed me over the edge.
I definitely have a newfound respect for painters. Actually, I’m not sure if I found respect or sympathy. Perhaps both. They deserve it.
Painting is profoundly brain numbingly boring. I have no idea how anyone can do it every damn day. I’m actually surprised painters and decorators don’t have a higher suicide rate. After a week of painting I wanted to blow my stupid brains out at the thought of holding another paint brush.
Applying the paint to the surface is only the tip of the iceberg, it’s the preparation that really swung on my tits; laying down protection sheets, cleaning the surface, polyfilling the holes, sanding down the rough surfaces, masking the edges.. ZZZzzzzZzz. KILL ME NOW!
Children are starving, yet while I’m painting, I’m crass enough to feel like the victim. I think about my friends out in town, having fun, doing cool shit like molesting girls on the dance floor in seedy bars, while I’m essentially fixing someone else’s horrendously poor taste. What were they thinking? Tasteless buffoons.
Here’s a picture of the “dark brown” walls and the rotting window frames, just so you have an idea of what I’m dealing with:
Every room was that colour, or a slight variation of it. EVERY-FUCKING-ROOM!
I fail to believe that this look was ever trendy, at least not in the last 15 years (the age of the property), so it genuinely was a case of diabolically evil taste.
Well, I hope you all enjoy the Lord’s day and enjoy your Sunday roast. I’m off to paint and stuff.
I hate you all (unless you’re also going through the same experience).
Disclaimer: I'm just a landlord blogger; I'm 100% not qualified to give legal or financial advice. I'm a doofus. Any information I share is my unqualified opinion, and should never be construed as professional legal or financial advice. You should definitely get advice from a qualified professional for any legal or financial matters. For more information, please read my full disclaimer.