Not one to miss an opportunity to exploit the elderly and infirm, I dropped a box of knobs off at my Dad’s yesterday, along with a pot of black paint. His usual warm welcome (“bugger off“) didn’t deter me from asking if he’d be so kind as to paint a few knobs, as and when he felt like it. Well, he’s only 80, so I don’t like to think of him sitting in the chair being idle;-)

I called in today and was informed that he’d ‘done’ some of them. I assumed he’d painted them by hand, as I do, but Dad had his own ideas and had set up a spray booth in the workshop. I peered in and was quite amazed that some of the paint had actually managed to hit the knobs – there was a mist of black paint along one stretch of the workshop. I’ve a feeling that Dad’s ‘quicker’ method of painting knobs will just about bankrupt me, as by my reckoning, there’s about 90% of the paint gone AWOL. From what I gather, the knobs were poked into some cardboard and then blasted with a high power compressor, that had a previous career spraying cars. Rumour has it that a few of the knobs made it as far as Scotland, before they ran out of steam and came gently down to earth just north of Gretna. If you happen to find one, I’d be grateful for its safe return.

I’d joked with my hubby that my Dad would concoct some sort of contraption to make painting the knobs ‘quicker and easier’, and had half expected to see a rotary washing line with fishing line and knobs dangling in a Heath Robinson, paint dipping machine fashion. How wrong I was!

 

 

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