Inspired by a megastore's optimistic message that DIY is in my DNA, I've been trying to attach a number of wall panel heaters around the home.

Sadly, my efforts to date have been unsuccessful, the rooms forlornly peppered with misplaced drill holes.

The caregiver, ever hurtful, suggested she thought I had attacked the walls with an AK-47.

Being a creative sort of bloke, I have always egotistically believed that I can guess a straight line and therefore don't require the usual paraphernalia favoured by "proper DIY experts", such as steel rulers and spirit levels.

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It wasn't until I'd completely turned the Gib board into Swiss cheese, that I concluded a few basic tools might be necessary if I was going to successfully discover the magic molecule flowing through my veins.

Now, I may be struggling on practical DIY, but one thing I'm expert in is shopping.

I've now been back and forth to the megastore, buying this and that, discovering a new enthusiasm for purchasing manly-looking tools and allied stuff, so much so that I was even tempted to buy a large metal storage unit to hold my growing list of DIY essentials. I even had to transfer my old truck from the holiday house to carry some of the more heavy-duty gear I've been indulging in.

So, dressed in my tattered shorts, paint-splattered T-shirt and armed with my truck, I felt assured that I reflected a certain savoir-faire, suggesting that on the surface at least, I looked like a proper Kiwi DIY sort of bloke, ready to tackle all manner of home improvement jobs.

After re-plastering my earlier botched efforts, I began drilling again, having carefully checked the surfaces with my newly purchased stud finders, spirit levels and measuring templates.

To my horror, the heaters once again ended up suspended on a slight angle, leaving me mystified and blubbing in despair that I'm still a long way from truly earning my home-handyman's stripes.

Later in the day, the caregiver, more practical and competent than me, noted that the heaters' fixing brackets were not aligned correctly, suggesting a manufacturing fault that clearly made it difficult to hang the units correctly.

With the appliances hastily replaced, I've recommenced machine-gunning the walls again, ever hopeful that somewhere in my fragile physiological makeup, there is a double helix encoded with that magic DIY molecule.

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