Chapter Three

The Day it Begins 

It should have been like staring at a black canvas, however between the supposed black canvas and NPM stood loads of stuff. Cardboard boxes, kids toys, the school nativity stage and backgrounds…….. why? and his neighbours collection of retro suitcases, plus stacks of comics, magazines and holiday brochures.
Matters only got worse as he found half a motorbike, what seemed like the contents of his neighbour Geoff’s mothers garage, old jam jars, empty margarine tubs and two bags of cat litter. “Theres meant to be a bed in here somewhere” he muttered. Some help would have been nice. Unfortunately the house had become the Marie Cileste. No wife, no kids and even the cats had buggered off. Still a positive though sprung into his brain “Two people make short work of one persons food” and the endorphins released by the visualisations of a fresh bacon sandwich allowed him the put aside any negatives thoughts and to get on with the job in hand. 
Resigned to his fate he spent the next 2 and a half hours up and down the stairs dumping the entire contents of the room into the bin and garden. Still it was abit of a special moment when he was finally confronted by an empty room, well apart from a bed and some carpet. Easy pert now he thought.
A further three hours later and after much swearing, exasperation and despair the bed was outside (in bits) and the carpet ripped up and stored neatly on the growing mound of rubbish out the back of the house. Mrs NPW had left specific instructions that the wallpaper needed to be stripped back, no painting over the old paper so with the steam stripper crackling and emitting random clouds of boiling water NPW got going. Three layers of paper lay behind the wood-chip, multiple coats of gloss paint and some kind off incredibly sticky glue. So not an easy job. This was going to be some week he thought as the light went from being slightly dimmed outside to very dark and the 9 o’clock news bulletin came on the radio, then became the 10 then the 11.  Still not bad for 12 hours work he thought as his daughter finally showed up and stuck her head around the door, you haven’t got very far she said followed with “Just wait till mum finds out you’ve chucked all her margarine tubs in the bin!” The light drizzle had become a tropical torrent by the time NPM made it too bed at midnight. O shit he thought to suddenly as his head hit the pillow, he’d left the school nativity stage and set outside. The last words he thought before he slipped off into sleep were I ought to go outside and cover it up…….
The next few days passed in a slightly painless routine once the heated argument over the ruined nativity display had passed. NPM’s wife had surprisingly enjoyed the school trip to Disneyland Paris and spent the rest of the week wearing mouse ears. A bit scary and weird he thought but sensible not to mention it. Hearing the news repeated every hour was  really too much but strangely created a hypnotic bubble around NPM which only came to an end on what turned out to be a fatefull Thursday morning. 
There was only two drops of paper left to remove. Unlike the rest of the room the first tentative scrape with the scraper saw a beautiful peeling section of paper float off from the wall. “O wow” he thought, this was nirvana, I’ll be done in half an hour, easy. Just at that point the bell went. As the rest of the family were at school either working or studying NPW put the steamer and scraper down and trudged downstairs were he was greeted by a desperate panicky high pitched slightly frantic WE NEED YOUR HELLP…..  Irrational, just on the edge of a complete meltdown, Janice’s face was red, flushed and streaming with tears. “You’ve got to see this” her daughter helpfully enlightened NPW as she peered over her mothers left shoulder. 
Keys picked up, jacket on and his front door closed, decorating left behind and it wasn’t until five when NPW feeling slightly relaxed and drunk. Janice, or Jan as she was known to her friends worked as a receptionist in the local health centre, however in her spare time she helped out as a volunteer with the local community radio station where she dreamt of one day hosting her own show and becoming the Robert Elms of South London. It was this ambition and desire that had led her to agree for her garden to be used in a special 45th anniversary reenactment of the 70’s sitcom The Good LIfe. “O it will be wonderful said Maurice, And it will make your career…..” Possibly not in the way she expected, it turned out.
Thursday morning, two goats, a donkey and three spotted pigs managed to get through her fence into Councillor Threddies back garden. The one he was preparing for the Chelsea Flower Show (suburban gardens special). Having left a trail of devastation the Good Life 6 managed to get into the Little Warren Allotments which ran down between the railway line and row of large detached 30’s mock tudor villas. Planting of seedlings had taken place en-mass earlier in the month, however it now looked as if the award winning Borough allotment would need to be reseeded and planted. Amazing what damage 2 goats, 3 pigs and a donkey could do!!! 
Rounding up the happily liberated animals was a bit tricky and while stressful for Jan, NPM and her daughter Leslie had a great time. Being outside, running about and doing some good (as Eliott Ness said) was incredibly liberating for NPM given his week of confinement in the spare room. Having got them back in her garden and and locking the animal in the empty garage a grateful Jan offered NPM team a glass of two of her home made cider. Jan Rambles Cloudy Scrumpy she called it along with vegetarian lasagne. 
Four pints later and feeling slightly worse for wear NPW turned the key in his front door and made his way back up to the spare room. His schedule had gone completely however remembering how easily the paper had come off in the morning he felt certain he could see the last of the paper off by six. Mrs NPM had offered to hang the fancy expensive wall paper, put up the coving and finish off the painting if he’d fished off all the preparation and hang the lining paper. A good deal that was made even better with permission for him to head off to the Craft Beer and Flares 70‘s Covers Rock Band Festival at the community centre.  Clearly that was plentiful motivation. Yep an hours hard fast graft, a wash of the walls and varying would be set for Fridays hanging of the lining paper.
There is an old phrase which goes less haste more speed or don’t strip wall paper when you’ve had 4 pints of strong scrumpy in the afternoon and you’re a lightweight on the drinking front. The stripping had started well until there was soon only a single square foot of paper left. What had been like the best ever easy peel satsuma had become a tacky, sticky immovable gungy lump. The steamer hadn’t helped, infact it had seemed to make it stickier. NPW out of frustration started to scrape harder, pushing the blade with more force and digging slightly into the plaster and then it started to give, yes he was through. And then it happened. Not only did the lump come away but so did a large chunk of plaster leaving a large hole exposing the brick work.
Blank, confused, bewildered. Noooo…… he sunk to his knees in more than a little despair. His initial desperation was swiftly replaced though when he cleared his head and remembered the old trick of polyfilla and newspaper. And remarkably he had polyfilla. But no newspapers and they had all been thrown out earlier in the week. Some serious rummaging was called for and he managed to find a couple of freebies and the strangely delivered out of date paper from the other week in his garage. He felt he shouldn’t use this one, but time was pressing and needs must and he was still feeling the effects of the cider and he was soon daubing the sticky filler/paper combo into the hole in the plaster and began the tortuous process off attempting to get a passable flat surface. 
Not a bad job he said to himself as he surveyed his handy work, mind you he had made a mess and he was covered in wet paper encrusted filler. Having had a shower he recounted the days adventures to Mrs NPW over a glass of chilled Liebraumilche, who found the whole tale highly amusing. Concillor Threddies was the pompous chair of the local Education committee who’s sole objective in the role was to make each of the local school a faceless academy and as such had really annoyed Mrs. NPW intensely. 
The next morning Mrs. NPM peered at him strangely. “Whats that on your leg?” He’d felt a strange itch on his left calf last night which had delevloped into a tired ache deep in his muscle. Looking down he notices a small piece of newspaper stuck to his leg. “Clearly didn’t wash properly last night his wife helpfully diagnosed with a hint of Holmesian deduction. NPM picked at it, managed to loosen a corner and tried pulling it but it wouldn’t come off and instead became quite painfull, pulling on the skin underneath.
“Leave it and soak it off in the bath later” said Mrs NPM. “I’ve got Mr. Grimshaws leaving do tonight but won’t be late as I want to get started on the spare room early.” With that she piroeted, lent forward and kissed him, and then danced out into the landing and down the stairs. NPM was left looking slightly surprised in her wake. I knew she was waiting 10 years for Grimshaw to retire but didn’t know quite how happy she was about it. Glancing down at the strange piece of old newspaper, a black and white photo of group of what like a picket line, and an outraged headline.  He couldn’t quite focus on it though and throbbing pain in his head distracted him. Trying to ignore both he pulled on his painting jeans but he  did so he e felt like what seemed a rough graze on his left hip. Must be the cycling crash he thought, odd though it was causing trouble now. 
Trying to put all of this out of his mind he went to the kitchen, took a couple of paracetomol, made some instant coffee and headed up to the spare room to begin the papering.