The domestic Budget would not balance and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, wrestling with figures, declared finally that he could find no margin for the decorations on which I had set my heart. 

"But the house is so shabby," I protested. "Look at the bathroom." 

With masculine blindness he refused to look, so alone I considered those unsightly walls where peeling distemper and grubby fingermarks vied with each other to produce an effect of neglect. Something would have to be done about it. 

"Give me a pot of paint” I demanded. "I’ll do it myself." 

Grudgingly the Chancellor conceded the price of a pot of paint and I set out. 

The ironmonger proved friendly and applauded my intention. He spread before - me colour cards and pictures and together we devised a scheme worthy of the Ideal Home Exhibition. It seemed a pity to buy cheap paint for such a scheme and the enamel finish one was certainly recommended for bathrooms. We collected a can of apple green for the walks, one of emerald for the bath and their respective brushes. 

"Of course,” murmured the ironmonger, “you'll have to size the wells first." 

He added to. the pile a packet of size and another brush and. calmly booked an amount twice that of my original estimate. 

In the morning I set to work and gradually the walls shone bright and clean, the bath gleamed with emerald, I stood and surveyed my work with pride. It was certainly beautiful, but its very cleanness showed up the hitherto unnoticed shabbiness of towel rail and fittings. Back I went to ironmonger white paint to restore them to their original freshness. He greeted me with kind enquiries, and gently drew my attention to some new green bathroom stools that had just arrived. 

"Just the touch you need, I should think, Madam," said he.

 It was irresistible. "Send one with the paint!” I replied recklessly. 

He sent it, and enclosed with the parcel more booklets with colour schemes. Here I found a super bathroom with waves and seagulls. I looked from picture to my bare walls . Why should they not also have seagulls?

I sought the wall paper merchant.

“Birds, Madam? Certainly. Seagulls in varnished paper are the very latest, if I may say so.”

Swooping above the bath they gave a new look of superiority to the room and  I stood in the middle to admire the scene. Every prospect pleased and I heaved with a sigh of content till my glance reached the floor. That mat! Could I possibly have endure a mat like that so long? With one gesture of repulsion I cast it forth and went out to choose a new one. 

I have just laid it, and my bathroom is complete. It is a great success, but I can't help wondering what the Chancellor of the Exchequer will say when he sees the bills arising out of one pot of paint.