Don't talk to me about Torture.

Don’t talk to me about Torture. I’m a DIY’er extraordinaire. I mention this because yesterday whilst stripping wallpaper together with the thin plaster layer, which was more attached to the paper than the wall, I energetically rammed said plaster layer up under my thumbnail. Did I call Amnesty International? No. Did I accuse the Americans of extraordinary rendition? No. Well to be fair they weren’t involved. No, to a DIY’er it’s all in a day’s pain. I just carried on to the next job, subjecting myself to intolerable levels of noise breaking up the old cast iron bath. Add to that the nasty ‘black man’s pinch’; sorry that’s the only name for it I know, on my right hand and several electric shocks over my DIY history I seem to have subjected myself entirely voluntarily to something akin to Abu Omar’s experiences in an Egyptian jail. To be fair the old mains cable to the antique bathroom heater mercifully did not find its way into my trousers. Oh and let’s not forget water boarding was invented by DIY sink fitters in the first place, and torture victims don’t have to try to get a spanner on the tap connector in the ridiculously narrow gap behind the bowl whilst it’s being done to them. No, if you want a terrorist to talk get him to refit a bathroom. After a week he’ll be reading the Sun and completely cured of any anti western propaganda.