So let's go back in time to last July, when I gathered some fabric samples to recover a battered old ottoman we'd bought in a junk shop. The stuffing was falling out all over the floor. The paint was chipped. But I could see it in my mind's eye - a beautifully refurbished item of furniture.
But for the last 11 months, instead of a beautifully refurbished item of furniture, I've had an ugly item which necessitated me constantly vacuuming up bits of stuffing. Draped over it - sometimes folded up inside it - was a piece of rapidly fraying fabric.
I'd bought it a new, custom-cut foam piece, which sat on the top of it getting steadily grubbier. Littlest saw it, and made some pretty gouges in it with a comb.
It was enough. I decided just to get on with the damn thing. Because really, last July? After a very swift repainting, I set about haphazardly slapping the fabric round the foam. No delicate stitching, no upholstering. I just hacked at the fabric with scissors and then shot the thing together with a wall stapler.
And now I don't have to think about it anymore.
(There's no 'before' photo, because I was just Getting On With It.
Imagine something with a hideous gold cover on, falling to bits, with a more garish brassy trim.)
One of the strange things about blogging is knowing that more people read your blog than comment, and wondering who these people are. Are they people who make things, who enjoy your blog and its hapless incompetence as a form of light relief? Or are they fellow hapless incompetents, who read it to make them feel better about themselves?
Here's my message to the latter group - if I can get on with it, anyone can. If there's something you need to do, do it badly and Ta da! it's over, and it's time to get the wine out.
To the former group, I'm sorry. I don't belong among you. Oh, and don't click on the picture to enlarge it - it really doesn't bear close inspection.
I did also ask back in July for advice on how to choose between two practically identical mint greens, and then didn't let you know what I'd done with them. That project - refurbishing a junk shop bedside table - happened a good deal quicker than the one above, simply because I desperately needed somewhere to store my undies.
(Eagle eyed readers will note the ironic book title at the bottom of the pile on the table.
Oddly, this was not intentional. I took this photo months ago, and no, I still haven't finished the damn book.)