Stand back or I'll deck ya!

This HMS Indefatigable is a metaphor, not a real ship. But we have tons of decking to scrub anyway.

One of the joys of living in a temperate rainforest is that everything gets slimy and green and covered with this weird scummy algae. You can pressure wash it off but that’s annoyingly loud, and with improper technique, can cause streaking and scarring on your deck. There’s also the fact that I don’t own a pressure washer and can’t be bothered to rent one at the moment. (one day soon, though, because the driveway needs doing too)

If you don’t get the guck off, all the surfaces start looking gross, and wooden decks and stairs become very slippery, especially when wet (and that’s pretty much every day here). So, on Monday, following a frustrating attempt to paint a room with two squabbling children who were determined to drive me completely mad, and just as I was about to engage in conduct unbecoming a master and commander of a modern family, I blew out the door with a scrub brush and swabbed the decks.

Nothing like channeling spitting rage into a cleaning frenzy. There I was, in ancient capris, with a ratty tank top, in the warm rain, scrubbing like mad while Roo called out from the windows to “scrub harder matey!” Within a few minutes I started feeling better. I imagined I looked like a J Crew model, all glowing and glistening while scrubbing. In reality, I looked like a suburban woman in old clothes with hair matted flat by the relentless drizzle. But I felt good.

And the deck? It was bloody marvelous. What a satisfying job.

See the difference?

OK, just one more. Bye-bye gross green.

By the time I was fit to be in human company again, it was dinner time and I had my very favourite thing – a meal prepared by somebody else. Accompanied by a nice red wine. We stood to sing God Save the Queen (‘cause it was Victoria Day, the day we celebrate the Queen’s birthday) and life was good again.

But that room is still not painted.