Being summer we've been getting stuck in to a bit of good old-fashioned painting round the house.
Or to be more precise, round the house of the Boomerang Child and her bloke.
If you missed the news, and I'd be surprised if you did since Mrs P has been excitedly delivering it to all and sundry, Boomerang Child is expecting a baby in June. So we, as proud parents, are assisting with getting their house ready for the imminent arrival. As you do.
This has meant getting some of those big jobs they've not gotten round to yet out of the way, like painting the house as they planned when they first managed to squeeze, almost bankrupted, into the ranks of the young first-home owners.
Now for me this shaped up as a relatively easy task. I mean you choose a colour, buy the paint, do the work and then sit back on the deck with a cold one and enjoy the results... before your better half generates the work order for the next big job.
Or it should have been.
We got stuck on the colour bit.
At the risk of sounding like an out-of-touch old fart, I can remember painting my first house a hundred years ago on the West Coast.
Back then your choice was basically doing your wooden weatherboards white or an equally definite non-look-at-me colour, if you know what I mean.
In my town a tin roof was either red or brown, though I do recall some adventurous types pushing the boundaries and going for green much to the dismay of some dyed-in-the-wool traditionalists.
Nowdays, as I discovered recently, your choices are significantly broader. And I have to admit it was hard to stop an eyebrow raising by itself when the kids decided they wanted to paint their house grey.
Oh well, I thought. Their choice. So off we trotted to the paint shop.
It turns out there are 7,345,308 shades of grey. Significantly more than the 50 I'm sure I heard whispers about not that long ago, though that may have referred to something else.
So, there we are in the paint shop reading the back of those colour cards they have. I have to say they are a work of literary art.
Who knew, for instance, that such, well, basically a drab colour, could be "mysterious" or "sinister" or, my personal favourite, "almost devout and monastic in mood".
Regardless, the Boomerang Child and I purchased the required colours, one for the roof and one for the walls, and before you know it her man, Builder Boy, and I are up top getting the job done.
It would be fair to say it wasn't a particularly easy task, the steep pitch making for some access issues but we managed it over a few days and by the end of the week the whole house was complete. Dark grey walls and light grey roof.
But, as we surveyed our work from across the road with the two women in our lives who control the colour schemes and tea breaks, Builder Boy and I were informed of a problem.
The roof colour was too light. It had taken on bluish, silvery properties and needed to be changed.
Protests over the cost were pointless once I received "The Look" from Mrs P. I knew perusal of our bank balance that evening would show a decrease in the total available and there would be a new IOU note in her bag which will be settled by the 12th of Never.
Those in a similar position will know exactly what I mean and will, like me, smile to themselves and mentally put it away in the ever-growing "Things That Parents Do To Help Out" file.
So, that sorted, the task of getting the new paint falls to me and I rush back to the paint shop.
Trouble is I can't remember the exact name of the colour. All I can recall is the description on the back of the colour swatch.
"It's got smokey undercurrents of complexity," I offer pitifully, trying to be helpful.
Luckily the young lady behind the counter has dealt with silly old sods before and she knows exactly the one I'm looking for.
Very soon I'm back on the roof again with Builder Boy and a day or so later we are back across the road again surveying our handiwork.
This time the match is spot-on, the girls are happy and before you know it Builder Boy and I are sitting on the deck enjoying a cold one.
It doesn't take long before the girls emerge with their colour charts for the next painting job - the baby's bedroom.
Various shades and tones are bandied around but I give up totally confused when they start to talk excitedly about a colour called "black white".
I mean really? Surely it's black or white isn't it? I thought if you added one to the other you came up with another colour altogether. Regardless it has all become too confusing for me.
I suppose you could say I find the whole colour selection thing a bit of a grey area.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com (Kevin Page in subject field).