Painting Problemos and Pineapple's Parting Pirouette

Posted by Lara Masters at 15:24 on 13 May 2010

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It's going off like rotten Roquefort round Lara's gaffe

I'm ensconced in bed surrounded by furniture piled up to the rafters because the painters are in (not a crude euphemism.)

Every other room is covered in dustsheets and debris which is not wheelchair-friendly terrain. If I attempt to wheel anywhere, I end up dragging floor-sheets, ladders, paint and painters along in my wake. I'm fully dressed, under 2 duvets (heating a no-no with fresh paint) and I haven't bathed because the bath's being fixed, although I'm currently in dispute with the plumber over the exact definition of the word "fixed". He says the taps are "fixed" because they no longer leak. I say taps placed at random angles with half inch gaps between the bath and the stem, that emit screeching noises when turned are not "fixed". Now, I'm paying for my audacity by being left to stew in my own juices. I may blog for the glammest mag in the universe but my life is not all Ivy Club, celebs, TV shows and fabulous corsets; right now I'm dropping pitta all over my keyboard and bed.

Another reason for my confinement is that I'm staying out of the way. I discovered that decorator types are very sensitive, despite their brusque facade, when I caused outrage by daring to point out that the dark blue emulsion was wobbly where it met the white skirting and the trunking was only half painted. According to the foreman, the correct mode of conduct when you see botches is to keep schtum and then go round discreetly patching up when the boys leave so as not to offend delicate painterly sensibilities. Needless to say, I'm not upholding painting etiquette and will probably be found head first in a pot of gloss before the week's out.

After noticing this penchant for painting squiggly lines, I inquired about the paltry usage of masking-tape. I'm no tradesperson but I thought it helped create clean lines and keep paint off the edges of things and might be handy when say...painting, but no, apparently I couldn't be more wrong - masking-tape is actually for mugs;  proper painters use a technique called "cutting in" - a free-styling method which creates afore-mentioned wobbly lines and missed bits.

The head honcho went on to inform me that, actually, I was the real cause of any decorating imperfections because I said I wanted the job finished ASAP. Yes, apparently the boys are quite the Leonardo Da Vincis if given time to pontificate, and 73 tea breaks a day is insufficient for the ruminations that would have lead to my home looking like it wasn't just freshly painted by a tornado.

Not wanting to be trapped in my furniture turret for too long and aggravated by the general slap-dashedness, I enlisted another local decorator to help. This, I subsequently found out, is very bad form - the right way to deal with painters is to only have the original lot in even if they're slow, messy, refuse to work past 3, some days don't turn up at all and jocularly warn you they'll be leaving even earlier on Friday as it's POETS Day (Pi$$ Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday). Hmmmm. I only hope they'll find next week's SYRUYAPO Monday (Shove Your Rollers Up Your Ar$e And Pi** Off) just as amusing.

Apparently it is so offensive to bring fresh blood into an old, rotting painting stable that the foreman told me to tell the other boys the new painter was my friend. Not that I felt it might be hard passing off a 55-year old bloke in painter's overalls, a white, ladder-laden van full of emulsion and a cigarette behind his ear who refers to me as Lorna as my bosom buddy - but I refuse to be forced into a lie. As a consequence, the new painter has been met with stony silences and what looked very much like an attempt to knock him off his ladder this morning.

And - haven't we all been knocked off our ladders a bit by the ending of Pineapple Dance Studios? (Not a terribly smooth link but I'm fuddled by paint fumes.) We laughed, we cried, we fast-forwarded Tricia and Andrew and now the PDS rollercoaster has come to a fittingly flamboyant end with theO2 extravaganza (Sky 1 all week.)

The finale is in parts poetic, as when Louie surprises his beloved husband with a heart-breakingly beautiful dance, and in parts plain painful, like when Tricia starts squawking in another gusset-busting leotard and Andrew duets with David Van-Freaky.

Personally, I felt Andrew had found his calling singing the old folks to sleep at the retirement home in the previous episode. It was endearing watching him crooning his heart out to a semi-conscious audience as if he were at Wembley. Afterwards, when the pensioners were let out of the room, turned their power chairs up to full tilt and sped off, I felt sorry for Andrew. Not that he registered their desperate dash for freedom but he's not a bad guy. His puppy-like enthusiasm and indestructible self-belief/delusion is quite sweet, he just needs some firm editing both in the show and reality.

So, we say goodbye to Luscious Louie, the hot Pineapple Dance Group and choreographer extraordinaire Mark Battershall (wearing cap in photo), the Pineapple staff and my fabulous and hilarious mum Debbie Moore OBE. I did complain to the producers throughout the series that my mum and her Will ‘n Grace relationship with Louie - see them dancing above - should have featured more. I also grumbled because me and my bizarro life ended up on the cutting room floor as they felt Tricia, Andrew, crop-circles and Oompaloompas were more compulsive viewing. They are of course wrong in their opinion contrary to mine, however, they had the vision to make Pineapple Dance Studios into a hit show so they are obviously not constantly completely clueless.  

Let's all give our opinions on the show in the comment boxes below. Or, you know, just tell me a bit about yourself.

 

 

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