Seeing as the Greeks invented everything, they should be brilliant at DIY. Right? WRONG.
A Greek man’s definition of DIY is “Do It next Year”.
Or never at all.
So proud are the Greeks of their inherent wealth of skills, that to suggest that they hire a professional to do the job is as insulting as throwing a freshly baked moussaka in their face.
My father is a prime example of a proud DIY Greek.
Instead of carrying out any small maintenance jobs throughout the year, he decides to leave everything until the summer, at which point there is so much to do, that he decides to leave it until the winter.
As a result, nothing gets done until the 5 year mark has been reached.
The family’s kitchen ceiling resembled a moon crater for many years, only catching my father’s attention, when my brother stuck several of his space-men figurines upside down onto the ceiling to reconstruct the moon landing.
Asthetic maintenance aside, we also had a broken lightbulb dangling precariously over the sink for a time, which my father attached a note to warning “DO NOT TUCH” (note the spelling error).
The crater effect ceiling was eventually painted over (and the space-men removed) whilst the broken bulb was replaced with the brightest white fluorescent tube light he could find so that the kitchen now looks like a forensic lab.
By far his greatest DIY failure was when he decided to drill some air holes into one of those big plastic shoe boxes that go under the bed. Instead of removing the shoes from the box BEFORE drilling, my father decided that it would be quicker to just estimate roughly where the shoes were, and try to avoid them.
Unfortunately, his plan was completely flawed, and by an unlucky stroke he managed to drill a hole right through a pair of my sister’s favourite (and expensively unique) leather knee-high boots.
Luckily the slippers from Primark survived.
As you can imagine, my sister was distraught, but my father remained incredulous and pointed out that she now had a new pair of ankle boots.
She refused to speak to him for days.
My mother has now resorted to hiring professionals in secret. (By “professionals” I mean fully qualified engineers etc, not an assassin).
My father remains oblivious, and continues to believe that he alone has fixed the oven, after it miraculously appears to repair itself over night.
All my other Greek male relatives are exactly the same, and they often congratulate each other on what they deem to be their DIY achievements.
Still I suppose we have to give them credit for trying…after all, the Acropolis wasn’t built in a day.