Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

With Heatwave 4.0 finally subsiding, I got stuck into a few physical tasks around the house this morning. First on the list: hanging a single picture in the bathroom.

In my mind, hanging pictures ought to be one of the easiest DIY tasks in existence. It’s simply a matter of bashing a nail into the wall, isn’t it? Well… subject to a few minor considerations.

Obviously, you need to ensure the nail is penetrating solid wall rather than a water pipe or live electric cable. Then there’s viewing height—at 6’2”, my eye level is far too high for Karen. The picture needs to be centred on the wall, or at least aligned with neighbouring frames, windows, or doors. It must be level, which sounds easy enough until you factor in frame weight, bracket placement, and the fact that we’re dealing with stud walls, which require specialised plasterboard fixings. The list of variables goes on and on.

Suddenly, this seemingly elementary task requires a degree in structural engineering, a spreadsheet to calculate load-bearing limits, a formula to factor in the curvature of the earth (and quite possibly one of Newton’s laws), a vast toolkit, an array of wall plugs, a laser level calibrated to a tolerance tighter than a pub landlord’s spirit measures, and an algorithm to translate all this data into plain English—namely: where do I actually put the nail?

For these reasons, hanging pictures remains my absolute least favorite household job.

Armed with virtually every power tool and fixing available in the Screwfix catalogue, I entered the bathroom to take on this mammoth project. I was already suffering flashbacks from the last picture I attempted to hang. I’ve seen World War II documentary footage of bunkers with fewer bullet holes in the walls than I created with my drill before finally landing on the right spot.

Measurements and calculations completed, checked, re-checked, and re-re-checked, I selected my fixing method and cautiously tapped the bracket home. Holding my breath, I gently eased the frame onto the mount.

Voilà. Right first time.

After an hour of meticulous planning and another hour rounding up equipment, it took precisely 30 seconds to knock a simple nail into the timber framework.

The real test, of course, came later. When Karen arrived home from work, walked into the bathroom, and saw the picture hanging securely on the wall, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“WTF, what happened?!”

She was as genuinely shocked by my sudden structural competence as I was. High praise indeed. It makes me wonder how on earth Graham managed to renovate an entire house, when hanging a single picture requires this level of logistical military precision—and a miracle to pull off.