I ONCE received a letter from an irate reader at my previous newspaper accusing us of making his life an utter misery.

Although slightly tongue in cheek, he blamed our glossy weekend lifestyle features for fuelling his wife’s demands for a more des res home, resulting in him spending all his free time either up a ladder painting or fixing bathroom tiles in order to bring their house up to scratch. This, he said, was our fault, and needed sorting immediately with less appealing stuff in our pages.

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Of course, we all had a good chuckle at this and, being the sympathetic bunch we were, made sure we crammed the next edition with as many stylish and tempting illustrations as we could.

It’s only now I’m starting to wonder if the letter was from an exasperated Boris Johnson writing incognito about an earlier refurbishment crisis.

Twenty years on, the desire for the finer things in life is stronger than ever, as we aspire to something bigger, better, brasher and brighter. Shows such as the excellent Scotland’s Home of the Year tap into this need for a little “posh”, while satisfying the urge to nosey inside other folk’s homes, all from the comfort of your own worn-out coffee-stained sofa.

But whether driven by snobbery or creativity it does take a lot of dedication (and sometimes a helpful dollop of ignorance as anyone who has watched Grand Designs will attest) to transform your humble abode into an imitation Babylonian villa or replica Studio 54 nightclub.

I have huge respect for those with the skills and courage to make their domestic dreams a reality. But I’ve always had a theory that those fortunate enough to be armed with the know-how to fit a new kitchen or plaster the hallway will have had that knowledge passed down from a parent, typically their father. The rule is, if someone’s “handy” about the house, the odds are their old man was pretty useful too.

But for those of us whose father – like my own, god rest his soul – didn’t know the difference between a spirit level and the holy spirit, the world of even simple DIY has proved a lifelong struggle. I might not be in danger of confusing a hairdryer with a Bosch hand drill, but flicking through a Screwfix catalogue is akin to reading hieroglyphs.

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However, over lockdown as millions of us have run out of excuses not to get that job done, I’ve been lucky to discover the latest internet sensation Rob Kenney, whose YouTube channel “Dad, how do I?” is full of useful tips for hapless blokes like me.

His motivation stems from his rough childhood after his father left home, leaving him and his seven siblings without someone to teach them basic survival skills.

Thanks to Rob, I’m now a master (although my wife may disagree) at applying sealant round the bath, which is a useful start. But despite my new-found wisdom, I’m resisting the urge to get too carried away. After all, I wouldn’t want my handiwork featuring in the Herald Magazine and ruining some put-upon husband’s life. The guilt would be just too much.

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