I hope your hearts don’t start sinking again when you read the line below. It’s been a while since I last typed that particular sentence in a post so hopefully you’ll forgive me.
Guido and I were in bed last night.
I was staring intently at the bedroom ceiling. Every so often I’d blink. You will probably be relieved to hear that Guido was also staring at the bedroom ceiling. On the hanky panky scale I’d say the dial was thankfully failing to register any flicker of activity whatsoever. Phew. This was good because we were supposed to be having a very serious debate about potential paint colours and I wanted nothing to get in the way or interfere. For those of you who regularly read this blog and are familiar with an earlier debate Guido and I had in bed some time ago about pink suits, you may be thinking this was going to be a complete pushover. Let’s just say I have been to Rome and seen the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.
“I think I may have narrowed it down to five possible colour options,” I said. Nothing gets me more invigorated than discussing paint. Well, other than possibly Bear Grylls topless in a chilly Alaska.
“Hit me with them,” said Guido propping up his pillow. Let’s just say I was not sensing the love.
“I want you to keep a totally open mind,” I said. “Close your eyes. I want you to think very carefully about the name of each paint colour as I say it. I want you first to try to visualise what the colour might be like and let it wash over you and then tell me which you feel you identify with most.” I cleared my throat. Here goes nothing I thought. “Likeable Sand, Frozen in Time, Grandma’s Sweater, Dream I Can Fly – and my own personal favourite, but I am not in any way attempting to influence you – Mermaid’s Nest.” There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Okay dokey,” said Guido. He still had his eyes tightly closed, “they have washed over me and if I am being brutally frank I couldn’t visualise any of them. That is, with the exception the one called Grandma’s Sweater.” He opened his eyes and squinted at me. “I saw a very old bow legged Spanish woman from Malaga wearing a mothball smelling black cardigan. I don’t think either of us would like it on our bedroom ceiling though. Just saying.” This was disappointing. Brutal indeed.
“Right,” I said, visualisation was obviously not Guido’s thing. This was tricky but not a major problem. I had charts. Remember, I am, after all, a professional. I handed him the first chart randomly which had lots of little matt squares on it. Guido looked at them, then looked at the ceiling, then looked at the chart again.
“Well I quite like Bagel. Dinner Mint would do. Nacho is a possible, but if I were going to have to narrow it down to a final choice,” he looked back at the ceiling, “I would say it would probably have to be – Mayonnaise.”
I suppose I should just be thankful there wasn’t one named Salami Slice.