I think I must be a glutton for punishment.
Just a year after I was last renovating the house, once again the dust sheets were down.
I swore after the dining room decorating disaster of 2011, I would never attempt any DIY ever again. And I have kept to my word, kind of.
I think I may have mentioned that my fridge broke down in past columns and now, finally, I have a nice shiny new American-style fridge-freezer in place.
But the newness of the fridge only highlighted just how tired looking the rest of the kitchen was, so I decided it was time to give the room a face lift.
Down to the newsagents I went and picked up an arm-full of interior design magazines for inspiration.
One of the features was on a very quirky looking American diner style kitchen with black and white tiles, red walls and highly polished chrome finishings. The design would match perfectly with my new all singing, all dancing, guaranteed never to break down until 2020 fridge, so I decided to go for that and was in the middle of researching decorating firms when I made a vital error.
My son Gary couldn’t help but notice the influx of paint samples and kitchen brochures lying around the house and asked me if I would like a hand.
Not, out of the goodness of his heart you understand, but he proposed he undertake the DIY work and I forgo the digs money for a few weeks.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, the decorators would have charged far more than I would lose by not taking dig money and Gary seemed quite motivated and excited at the prospect of getting stuck into the work.
And to be fair, at first he did put in a lot of hours, ripping off the old unit doors and vinyl flooring and got stuck into the painting.
But then the work grounded to a halt. The sheets lay covering the ground, the paint tins cluttered in the corner of the kitchen and my nagging began.
All of a sudden Gary seemed to have things on every night, whether that be seeing his girlfriend, playing football or, his latest past time, a game of badminton. Everything took precedence to finishing the work.
I got fed up asking him to finish the job he started and sick of standing on shards of wood and screws when I forgot to wear my slippers.
Eventually six weeks had past with little progress so, in the end, I had to get the professionals in after all.
And in just one afternoon they had finished the job, cleared up all their mess and even taken the rubbish Gary had accumulated to the dump.
I couldn’t help but feel smug as I enjoyed my first cup of coffee in the new 1950s style kitchen of my dreams.
And my experience just backs up what I have always said - if you want to get a job done, get the professionals to do it for you!