A brush with reality of life

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We need to do some decorating.

First things first, though.We need some new paintbrushes. Again.

It must only be three months since we used the other new ones. And now they’re as stiff as planks. Just like the last set. And the ones before that.

How is it that, no matter how long you spend cleaning them, they never, ever get clean enough? We’ve tried everything. Enough white spirit to get the dog high. Oodles of washing up liquid.

You think it’s done the trick, but a few days on, you realise the brushes you left drying in the jam jar on your kitchen windowsill have turned to lead.

I’ve resigned myself to shelling out for new ones each time anything needs a fresh lick of magnolia.

So why, then, don’t I simply throw the used ones straight in the bin at the end of the job, rather than going through the pointless cleaning rigmarole every time?