Jo Davison - Speaking up for today's woman

Now I know why wallpaper went out of fashion. It's the quickest route to divorce - and we're not even married yet.

Exactly how hard could a bit of decorating be, we reasoned as we selected a rather grand print at Laura Ashley.

Naively, we actually thought it would prove quicker than emulsioning. In one fell swoop, a broad band of colour on the walls AND a gold swirly pattern to boot. It all seemed a far more attractive option than showering a fine veil of vinyl matt everywhere with a roller again.

In the process of purchasing, Bloke did confess he was a wallpaper virgin. But I didn't really want to listen, so intent was I on the grandioseness of eau de nil and gold. How hard can it be? I told him; our dads did it all the time. Surely it just comes naturally to a man.

Either that or we buy a manual, I suggested. Surely Amazon must have The Joy of Wallpapering. Think of the fun we'll have as we step-by-step together.

Being the older one in the relationship, I do have more experience than Bloke. In my early days of home ownership (a tiny little one-bedroomer in Kirk Sandall), everyone wallpapered. Painted walls were considered plain and boring.

Having said that, I was never the head surgeon in decorating operations, merely the theatre nurse. The one who pasted and had to hand up scissors, brush and gooey strips to the self-imposed demi god at the top of the ladder.

If Ex could also do it, I said, I was sure Bloke could. So we blithely set last Saturday as DIY date. Before we could get down to business, though, we realised there was much to do.

Like painting all the woodwork and coving, then removing the old wallpaper.

All in all, it took about three days before we could even start on the first piece of wallpaper. And when it came to the inaugural incision, we were nervous as hell; you'd think it was someone's kidney on that pasting table.

We consulted that manual; measurements were checked and re-checked. and finally, I had to be the one to wield the scissors (that way, it was my fault if he'd got it wrong).

After I'd liberally smeared it with this lovely new pink paste (more sensible than it sounds; it's so you can see where you've been) it was finally time to get the paper onto the wall without things ending up like a Laurel and Hardy sketch. Or having a woman-shaped lump behind the nice gold swirls like they did in Tom and Jerry.

It wasn't easy; there was the book to keep consulting. And the phone kept ringing. When we told the friends and rellies on the other end what we were doing, all we could hear was sucking of teeth.

"Have you had an argument yet?" they said. "Well, no - we're being very tolerant of each other," we said. "Well, you will, " chortled the prophets of DIY doom. "Wallpapering always causes rows. We don't do it together anymore."

Surely that wouldn't happen to us, we thought, with the optimism of New Love. Surely we'll always do it together.

But our resolve to be even more patient with each other was made harder by the fact that wallpapering memories of yesteryear kept coming back to me. Each one a minute or two too late.

Just one example; as he finished cutting right the way down the door jamb with a scalpel, I had a recollection of papering half an inch onto it for a neater finish.

Perhaps we should take that piece off, throw it away and start again, I ventured sweetly to the man with the twitching scalpel.

Perhaps not, then.

We've got to do our first corner tonight. I've put Rotherham District General A&E on speed-dial.