Fifty Shades of Greige

Yes, I know there's a sequel. You won't catch me anywhere near it. Ruined by Lala Land, I have used up my full quota of sad-masochism for the year, thank you. Never saw the first one, never read the book. In fact, I do confess to reading over someone's shoulder on the underground (filthy habit) and seeing something excruciating about nipple clamps that left me blushing all the way to Baker Street. But last night, my Dearest husband and I engaged in a tug-of-war of a very different kind.

Oh my giddy aunt! He has discovered the joys of interior design. I should never have taken him to Vanessa Arbuthnott's last weekend. It's opened a veritable can. Well now, we were discussing the Farrow and Ball colour chart. Have you ever experienced the special joy of an F&B chart? It all started with a shade of grey.

I really fancied grey walls up the stairs and landing. We have suffered from  a twenty-five-year buttermilk-anaglypta-impasse. Gouged inadvertently by a piece of furniture a week after it was done, it has remained a job too large to tackle, until finally, after I'd set grandchildren to start peeling the walls, its renewal became critical.

I had a yen for pale grey. Yes, I know it's ubiquitous. Quite the new Magnolia, in fact. But Dearest, I could tell, was not embracing the grey concept. And when he overheard the painters saying that they had done more grey walls than they could shake a brush at, last year, that did it for him. He didn't want what everyone else wanted. My husband the individualist.

The painters could only do the job in several sessions, as they were fitting us in. We were fine with that. However, for the past week we have been living with white-lined walls and white paintwork. Though unfinished, it looks so very much brighter and cleaner that I abandoned any thoughts I had of Elephant's Breath, Cornforth White and Ammonite. We are now down to All White (will it be all white on the night?) and New White as a contrast (subtle). In old money, brilliant white and cream.
But don't say that to Dearest, or he'll get you in a Clunch.  I tell you, this Smoked Trout felt more like a Dead Salmon by the end of it.
You'll be relieved we left the Dix Blue alone. I think that's where you came in...

In search of a whiter shade of pale