Our master bedroom has empty picture hooks (from artwork relocated two years ago and never replaced), one blue wall (a colour-blocking experiment gone awry), three walls painted smoggy grey - with a slash of tester paint on one - and a brass ceiling fan so big, so ugly we call it the Franken Fan. It's the room we close the door to when company comes over.
Now there are some very good reasons - time, money, energy come to mind - why this room has been mid-renovation for three and half years. But enough's enough. So at precisely 7:00 last night we embarked on phase one of the master bedroom reclamation project: wallpaper.
The master bedroom reclamation project came to a crashing halt at precisely 8:00 last night. I'm not normally one to admit decorating defeat, but even I recognized the whole thing had the air of a Holmes on Homes episode: me sandwiched between the wall and the bed blindly rolling paste onto a nine-foot length of very expensive wallpaper. The dodgy plumb line didn't help. And I couldn't find the wallpaper smoother that I know is somewhere in the basement, so I, ahem, improvised. I really couldn't say for sure why the paper wouldn't stick to the wall.
But by then my Captain Ahab instinct kicked in and we forged ahead to certain folly. We couldn't match the pattern. It's paisley. And metallic. It has a 36" repeat. The crummy light from the Franken Fan made it impossible to see. We couldn't agree which end was up. It did not end well.
So we continue to sleep under the mocking eye of the Franken Fan, nail holes in one wall, tester paint slash on the other and, now, a single crooked, creased and peeling panel of very expensive wallpaper. For now, it seems, the bedroom door will have to stay closed.
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