My first kitchen

We are half way through having our kitchen painted, by a professional. I learned early in our marriage that DIY was not my husband's strong point, and that because we both had quite strong views on how things should be done, it would be better to leave it to professionals than to be shouting at each other for days.

Thankfully, we are in agreement about colours and styles, which is interesting given there is a 12 year age difference.

Our kitchen has a very sunny aspect - it's a bit like being in a greenhouse in the summer. This has governed our colour choice for the walls, which needed to absorb light as much as possible. A dark dove grey has been chosen which will be a lovely contrast to the white of all the woodwork.

So different to my first kitchen. In 1988 I bought a Victorian terrace house and the priority when I moved in was to paint the kitchen. Actually it was to strip the wood first, as it had been marinaded in curry  smells and a thin layer of ghee for many years. My dad and I took to it with a blow lamp - no sandpaper would shift the coating. It took ages and the kitchen was only 4' x 8'.

I had set my heart on the colours of the Italian flag for the kitchen: white paintwork with green accents for the doors and red accessories. It was the tomato coloured iron trivet that dictated the palate - and hey, it was the '80s.  When it came to choosing the green, I had a temporary, wine induced "wobble" and went for a green more akin to Granny Smiths apples. It turned out to be an inspired choice, as anyone who ventured into the kitchen (sideways, comme un crabe) laughed at the shade. Laughter from a the kitchen is always a good sign.

Today it wasn't the colours that slammed me in reverse back to the 1980's, it was the smell. As soon as the paint was dry in my little Victorian house, I invited a friend for dinner. I had fallen deeply in love and I couldn't believe he would want to spend time with me eating my food. I served an exotic 3 cheese flan, and he gave me a bouquet of flowers which thankfully covered up the smell of the paint.

It was a relationship that didn't last sadly. It was years before I fell out of love, but he cheated on me and that smell of the paint yesterday made me cry; 34 years vanished and I was stood in the kitchen and felt abandonment all over again. 

What a difference 24 hours makes. Sat in the study with my faithful and wonderful husband of 18 years we eat pasta (the kitchen is still smelly) and that lost love in the apple green kitchen is but a memory, put to rest for good.