Steve and
I are neck deep in renovations at our new home in the Cote D’Armor region of
Brittany. Steve is a veteran of many a renovation, so this is most definitely
NOT his first rodeo. He is a capable electrician, plumber, carpenter, builder
and much more. He has yet to meet a DIY challenge, which he cannot conquer;
All that would change, the day he met French plaster.
All that would change, the day he met French plaster.
I never
thought I would see the day when I wrote an entire blog about plaster, but here
it is. Those of you who have tried to work with the stuff will understand
completely, and will no doubt be shaking your heads in silent empathy and maybe
even wiping a tear from your eye at the memory of your own failed attempts.
Having
reached a point where plastering was required, we duly went to our favourite
place – Bricomarche, for supplies. Bricomarche is bit like B&Q in the UK,
and with just as many exciting things. Bricomarche is to Steve what a sparkly
handbag or shoe shop is to me. Going to Bricomarche is a bit like entering a
time warp or a parallel universe.
It was a very exciting day when the Brico lorry came to our house!
Many’s the
time we have ventured inside, with the words, “I don’t need much” or, “I only
need a washer for the tap”, ringing in my ears, and yet, hours later, we emerge
blinking in the sunlight with a trolley, laden with goodness knows what and
suffering from dehydration. I actually timed Steve once as he chose some
plumbing accessories – he took a whole hour! A whole hour in one aisle!
I also
recall when it came to choosing our new bed that he lost interest after five
minutes, and walked away to look for more manly things, saying, “I don’t care which one, I’ll let you sort it”.
Steve is
easily distracted in shops like Bricomarche. I have noted that there are three
main items, which he cannot resist; extensions, tape measures and spirit
levels. Don’t ask me why. We have more electrical extensions than, ...... well, than
Bricomarche, and in our first week here, he had purchased four spirit levels!
Have you ever heard that old urban myth, that you are never more than six feet away from a rat? Well, in this house, I am never more than six feet away from a tape measure! They is always one within reach – you never know what
might need to be measured in a hurry.
This was yesterday's purchase of extensions!
Anyway,
back to the plaster. I guess the clue was in the name – JOKER. Hmmm, I missed
that one.
Joker by name and certainly Joker by nature
Steve has
plastered more walls than I’ve had sparkly shoes. He is a veritable master, nay
a Jedi of plastering. However, this is when using good old British Thistle
plaster, which you can apparently chuck in a bucket with water and abuse as you
like and it will still oblige and behave as it should. Not so the Joker!
Steve is
not accustomed to needing female assistance in plastering a wall. He is quite
capable of mixing it up and slapping it on. Thus it was, he set out on the
first day, humming happily to himself as he threw the joker plaster and water
into his bucket.
The first
clue I had as to the shape of things to come, was when I heard a loud scraping
noise, accompanied by low mutterings (Steve does not use bad language, but I
think on this occasion he may have been tempted). I listened and waited. The
scraping stopped and I heard water running and the sound of cross mixing (I can
tell the difference between ordinary mixing and cross mixing, and this was most
definitely cross). Then, a few minutes later, “Oh for goodness SAKE” followed by
more scraping and muttering (louder this time).
Now, we
women know better than to go into a man cave and ask, “Is everything okay?”
when clearly is isn’t. It's as pointless as saying, "Let's stop and ask for directions" when you're lost. I stood frozen to the spot downstairs as the cycle of
mix, mix, mix, scrape, scrape, scrape, mutter, mutter, mutter continued, until eventually
there was a grand finale of crash, bang wallop as the bucket was sent flying
with a yell of “Stupid dratted stuff”.
I could
stand it no longer and ventured upstairs to make tentative enquires as to how
the plastering was coming along. It was not good. Not good at all. In a huge
huff of vexation, Steve told me that the plaster was “going off too quickly”,
which to the uninitiated means it was setting before it should. He proceeded to
explain to me in great depth how he had plastered hundreds, if not thousands of
walls and never had this trouble. Short of producing qualifications and glowing
references in regard to his competence, he had me convinced that the problem
lay not with his superior abilities, but with the plaster. The words, “A bad
workman always blames his tools” were out of the question here. I shook my head
and sympathised.
“Look at
it” he invited, showing me the concrete like mixture. “It just goes off in
minutes. I can’t work like this” he lamented. “How am I supposed to finish it
off?” I shook my head, with nothing to offer with regard to how he could finish it off.
The dead plaster pile!
I
helpfully suggested that I look online to see if there were any other people
who had experienced similar issues, and see what suggestions there might be for
success. He glowered; “I know how to mix plaster” he said ungraciously for the
umpteenth time. I agreed, that he did indeed know how to mix plaster, but maybe
not French plaster.
And so to
good old Google. What I found astonished me. Forum after forum berating the
qualities, or lack of them, of French plaster. I mean there were literally dozens
of posts asking for help in using the stuff. We were not alone! There was an entire
community of bucket scraping, muttering men (and women) who were as frustrated
as Steve.
Advice
varied, but what came through loud and clear, apart from “This stuff is rubbish”
was;
1.
Add lemon juice to the mix
2.
Add more water than it says on the bag
3.
Hurry up and get it on the walls
4.
Have someone helping you mix as you plaster
5.
Use very small quantities
6.
Give up, go to England and buy some Thistle
plaster!
With
confidence soaring, I read the instructions on the bag, translated them via
Google translate and did the maths. Adding 30% to the water, I then took my own
vintage kitchen weighing scales (a small sacrifice) and weighed exactly two
kilos of powder. I added this carefully to a pre measured two litres of water
plus the 30%, plus a squirt of lemon juice.
What followed
was like something out of a Carry On film and went like this;
Steve; Is
it ready?
Me; Umm,
not sure, I don’t think so, it’s not gone thick (poking and stirring hopefully
as I spoke)
Steve;
Add some more plaster
Me; But I’ve
measured it exactly
Steve;
Just add some more
Me; Okay –
adding more
Steve; (Ten
seconds later) What’s it like now?
Me; Oooo it's going really thick now
Steve;
Right, put some on here – his plastering thingy
Me; Puts
some on as asked
Steve;
(Crossly) this is no good it’s going off already. Did you put lemon juice in it?
Me; Yes
Steve; Well it’s no good, it’s gone off
Me; I don’t
think I should have added any more powder. You need to wait longer, and there is no need to be churlish with me
Steve; I
know how to mix plaster
Me; I
know you know how to mix plaster but this is different. You asked me to help
and I’ve measured it exactly as it said.
Steve;
scrape scrape, mutter mutter
You get
the picture? And so it went on. I almost lost the will to live, I got a bad
back with all the bending and mixing, not to mention the scraping and wasted
plaster.
My Waterloo - plaster mixing
I came to
the conclusion that it would be easier to work with the most demanding of
Hollywood divas than to work with this plaster. I came to dread the words, “Can
you mix me some plaster?” I would run and hide, but he always found me! I also came
to understand that there is a whole different vocabulary related to plastering, which
translates like this.
Original Translation
I only
need one bucket This will
take seven buckets
It
shouldn’t take long This
will take all morning
It’s going
off too quickly You’ve clearly mixed
this wrong
Stupid
stuff This is
an affront to my abilities
After
several weeks of working with the Joker, many tears and tantrums and a lot of wasted effort, I can honestly say I am now able to get a
consistent result. The best advice I can offer to anyone who may want it, is as
follows;
*Add a
squirt of lemon juice to the water before adding powder
*Add
powder to water approx. 1kg to 1L water
*Stick
rubber gloves on and mix it by hand, squidging all the lumps out as you go
*Once you’ve
used a bit, add a handful of water at a time as required to the remainder and
keep mixing to prevent it going off
I never
mix more than 2kg powder at a time as it really does go off too quickly.
The all important lemon juice
I am
fairly confident that there will be many people (okay many men) who might well
read this with a certain amount of scorn. That’s okay; this was OUR experience
with French plaster. If you managed it better, good for you, for us it was a freaking
nightmare!
He got there in the end
I’m a girly girl. I like sparkly things, high heeled shoes and vintage dresses. I like makeup, nail polish and jewellery. I never thought I would be elbow deep in plaster, or hear myself utter the words, “Yey, it’s not going off”, but then I never thought I could look so scruffy and feel so happy J
Usually dressed up and sparkly. Mind, you this WAS our wedding day
Nowadays, more likely to look like this!
Bucket of
plaster needed? Bring it on, I’ve got it sussed J
Please visit my website; www.freyabarrington.com for more on me and my writing, thank you
Freya
