IN THE BEGINNING there was man. And he was able to do things around the house. Practical, useful things. Like put up shelves. Hang pictures. And change plugs. Now it seems such men are rare. In the rush to add value to our homes we’re spending more than ever on DIY — £18 billion last year according to B&Q. No British home is complete without a vast arsenal of power tools, each built for attacking a particular task. Yet we are in retreat.
Increasingly we lack the skills needed to use our fancy tools. Buying a drill is not the same as using one. “Men are no longer the DIY heroes they once were,” says Andrzej Aleksander, master of tools and UK brand manager for Black & Decker. “I think a combination of being too busy, lack of skills and fear is preventing many men from getting into DIY.”
Yet we’re still expected to perform. So we turn to dial-a-hubby services such as 0800 Handyman. They thrive as our skills decline. Sure, the dripping tap or dodgy doorknob gets fixed, but the real problem remains — we men just aren’t up to the job any more.
How to Mow the Lawn: The Lost Art of Being a Man, by Sam Martin, seeks to reverse this emasculating trend. It is the male equivalent of rediscovering domesticity. It shows us how to — among other things — lay a wooden floor, fix a toaster and repair large holes in plaster. The book aims to be an “indispensable companion for the rigours awaiting 21st-century man”. That I have received it as a gift — twice — demonstrates all too clearly my DIY prowess.
Tired of feeling feckless, I decide to try being a man about the house and discover the power-tool within. To work.
Advertisement
Three flying ducks — think retro Ogden — have been nesting in a box for six months. I dust them off and choose a wall for their maiden flight. The hooks on the back are small; a big nail seems too drastic. The book suggests fiddly little things called panel pins. Now the hammer’s too big; the only nails it hits are on the ends of my fingers. Feeling a bit pathetic, I tap in the first pin with a tiny hammer, forgetting to check for hidden wires.
Shocked — by my rubbishness — I continue. The pins go in at a steep angle, to give them more purchase. The first duck is flying. The other two are placed in relation to the first. Of course, my idea of a flying formation differs radically from my partner’s. And so we have the first of several DIY rows. In a truly manly act I ignore his (probably helpful) advice and start the second of my three Herculean tasks. Font drawers. In the days before laser printing these held many tiny ink blocks in individual compartments. For two years I have been meaning to hang a triptych of them.
This task is tougher. It involves measuring. Using a laser spirit level — because it’s quite exciting — I find a level so the drawers will hang straight. But how to affix them? The book talks about shelves but says nothing about font drawers. Through gritted teeth I accept advice on the phone from my father, who recommends “D hooks”. These look like nipple jewellery. But their advantage is that I can use picture pins — not screws — which means no drilling. Despite this, only one went up. No task is easy when you’re doing it rather than paying someone to do it for you. Down but not out, I tackle the letterbox. This has fallen off because we’ve been using it as a door-handle since that fell off last year. Although most mail is now electronic, I feel it’s only right to have a letterbox. Using a wrench and screwdriver, I prise off the remnants of the old one. The new one is unwrapped and placed over the hole in the door. It doesn’t fit. The hole is too small. I must make it bigger, so I fetch the jig-saw. While powering up for the first incision, my partner stops me. Do I know what I am doing? Sort of. Which isn’t really good enough. If I err, there could very quickly be more hole than door. Again, I retreat.
Of the three tasks set, I pass the first, half-pass the second and completely fail the third. But I now know that wearing a gingham shirt and an expression of intense concentration increases your chances of success. Books are good, but people — especially dads — are best.