Glaswegian Jimmy has been painting the outside of the house. It is an exhausting experience. We start the day with a discussion of his new shed or 'man-cave' as he prefers to call it because he is installing a full size snooker table, and at this point there might be a diversion into his promising career as a semi-pro snooker player. By mid-morning he is telling me about houses he has decorated and showing me photos of kitchens the size of my garden. If I have not escaped by lunch time I might be treated to a history of his relationship with The Pogues or an analysis of Brexit. At the end of the day, after a final session describing wallpaper made out of pig skin (apparently it is all the rage in the smart set), my brain feels as though it has shrivelled into a tiny, dessicated lump and I have to lie on the sofa looking at soothing pictures on Pinterest. Despite this acute case of mal du décorateur life continues so I must wind up the blogging machine to make sure that the days are not lost forever.