Rainbow Madness...

Colours, but not as you know them

For some unknown reason I found myself wandering the isles of B&Q today. This is a rare occurrence: I cannot stand DIY stores and will avoid them at all costs. DIY stores have a deep, blackening effect on my mood.

It doesn’t help that my DIY skills have all the grace and charm of a morbidly obese hippo with ADHD and halitosis. Try as I might, I just cannot do the most straightforward of DIY tasks. Shelves? Forget it unless you want your walls maiming. Plastering? I’m good at spreading margarine over bread, but that’s about it. Flat pack furniture construction is the worst. I will often break out in hives, before losing my temper and going on the rampage with a tube of mastic and a spirit level. The job rarely gets finished in the way that the confusing, badly-written manual demands. I always end up with bits left over that have nowhere to go, yet seem important. Like wood and lots of screws. I often have to rely on my talent for bodging to get things completed. Take the last thing I attempted to erect (snigger): a CD case. The manual said that the job should 45 minutes. It took me six hours over the course of two days. During this mission, I cut myself three times, nearly took my good eye out, said the eff word a lot, lost a third of my own bodyweight, resisted ransacking and looting my own bedroom, considered throwing all of my CDs away and then saw sense and got help from a girl.

DIY stores reinforce an unerring sense of clumsy uselessness within me. And I can’t abide the smell either, hence why I find slow death preferable to patronising such establishments.

And so, at 10am this morning, I found myself parking up outside the local B&Q. In other words, high doom. Having just moved, Mr Blokey and I are putting the finishing touches to the new des-res and the bedroom needs painting. We’re thinking of a ‘feature’ wall, which sounds horribly pretentious, but will look rather lovely when it’s done. But what colour? Hmmm…

After consulting the colour charts, it appears that in the years that I have happily remained persona non grata in DIY circles, things have changed beyond recognition. All I wanted was a tin of red paint. Dark red to be specific. But it doesn’t exist anymore. If you want red – normal red I mean, like the fire engine red - you have to ask for a shade of red called DIVA. Yes, DIVA. All capital letters and shouty. I was a bit intimidated just looking at it, to tell you the truth. It gets worse though: if you want to go a shade darker, then there is no point asking for a litre of burgundy. Oh no. You need to request CRIMSON LIPS. I can just see my Dad coming down and admiring the freshly painted wall whilst I say, ‘Here, Dad, do you like my CRIMSON LIPS? I was going to go for DIVA, but thought CRIMSON LIPS was more me…’

Now I understand that the people who produce the paint charts have to get creative with names but some of the names I saw today were just plain bizarre. For example, can you guess what colour SUNDAY DRIVE is? It’s white. Why they can’t just call it white, I have no idea. If you wanted to go a notch towards cream, then what might you call it? Beige? Magnolia? Don’t be silly. The answer – obviously – is CHESHIRE HIGH JINX. I shit thee not. If you wanted to go a touch whiter, what have you got? Brilliant white? Simon Cowell’s Teeth White? Er, no. The answer – and I’d sit down for this if I was you – is VINTAGE FROCK. I wonder what size that comes in?

Can you hazard a guess as to what colour MAYPOLE MERRIMENT is? I’d naturally opt for brown. But no. It’s beige. And what about FUZZY SLIPPERS (yes, really). Well, that’s beige too. A bit more towards cream. In fact I’d call it creamy-beige, but I’m common, so it’s hardly a surprise. Poor old beige really has been reinvented and then some: it also masquerades under the following names: SPOTTED DOG (snigger!), CREAM TEA IN THE COUNTRY (chortle!), TOWERING FAÇADE (cackle!), MINCE PIE (oooh, yum) and REAL CIDER (ugh – cider makes me vomit.)

I honestly think that the people who came up with these names must have been off their tits at the colour christenings. How else can you explain dumping the name ‘orange’ and replacing it with CONSTABLE’S TRUNCHEON? The green family has also been remixed beyond what seems absolutely necessary. What I thought was olive green is now called… NAUGHTY CROCODILE. A much paler green – which I’d call, erm, pale green, is now strangely named FAMILY GATHERING. What’s green about a family gathering? My favourite shade of green, though, has to be UNEXPECTED CAY, which I initially read as UNEXPECTED GAY, which is why I liked it in the first place.

And what’s next? I can just imagine next year’s chart. Beige could take on several new identities altogether – I’m thinking PISSED UP TRAMPS FART or HILARIOUS RABIES FOAM. We could reinvent blue as SUMPTUOUS HYPOTHERMIA, yellow could be THREE WEEK OLD BRUISE and my favourite shade of green will be called KERMIT IS AN ALCOHOLIC.

Oh dear. It’s all too much for me. Looking at a rainbow will never be the same again. In fact, I think to lie down whilst I assimilate this new information. Until next time, take care people.

Lots of love,

Johnny CRIMSON LIPS Pants.