How to Dispose of an Old Car or a Non-Running Vehicle

 There’s a moment that happens in Auckland after a stretch of rain, when the clouds lift just enough for the sun to find the damp surfaces of the city. Weatherboards darken, fences shine, and everything looks briefly sharper, like the world has been rinsed clean. It’s also the moment when you notice paint. Not interior paint, tucked away behind curtains and routines, but exterior paint—out there in public, taking the full hit of whatever the week decides to throw at it. I didn’t grow up thinking about exterior paint as anything more than a colour choice. A “nice” house was one with a tidy exterior, and that was that. But living in places with older timber, and walking through neighbourhoods where houses have clearly been through decades of seasons, I’ve started to see exterior paint differently. It isn’t just decoration. It’s a kind of protective skin. In a city like Auckland, where weather can swing from bright to grey to suddenly windy, that skin matters. “Weather-ready finishe...

 I don’t think most people notice paint in a commercial space until it starts sending the wrong signal. When the walls look tired, when the corners are scuffed in that specific way that says “too many hurried days,” when the colour feels dull under fluorescent lights, you feel it before you name it. The room starts to look like it’s giving up. And even if you’re only in there for ten minutes—buying something, waiting for an appointment, walking down an office corridor—you register that feeling and carry it with you. Commercial spaces have a strange job. They’re meant to look welcoming without being intimate, polished without being precious, functional without feeling cold. They have to hold up under foot traffic and repetition, and they’re rarely allowed to stop. A home can be closed off while work happens. A shop, office, clinic, or warehouse usually can’t afford the same kind of pause. That’s where the idea of after-hours painting enters the conversation, not as a glamorous feat...

 I used to think painting was one of those home things that didn’t really matter, at least not in the way people made it sound. It felt like a cosmetic layer, the kind of decision you make when you’ve run out of more interesting ways to spend a weekend. But the older I get, the more I realise paint isn’t just a colour choice. It’s a feeling you live inside. It’s one of the first things you see when you wake up and one of the last things you notice before turning the lights off. And in a residential setting, where life is messy and routines are repetitive, the state of the walls quietly shapes your mood in ways you don’t always recognise until something changes. The phrase “smooth, tidy results” sounds simple, almost boring, but it describes something surprisingly comforting. A smooth wall doesn’t pull your attention. A tidy edge doesn’t create a low-level itch in your brain. When a room feels visually settled, it’s easier to relax, easier to focus, easier to just be. You might not...

 I’ve always thought paint is one of those things you only notice when it’s wrong. When it’s right, it disappears into the background, doing its quiet job while you live your life. When it’s wrong, it becomes a kind of constant static. You start seeing every patch, every uneven edge, every spot where the light catches a bump that shouldn’t be there. It’s strange how something as simple as a wall surface can change your mood, but it really can. Auckland is a city that seems to amplify this. Maybe it’s the way the weather shifts quickly, or how the light can go from sharp and bright to soft and grey in a single afternoon. Maybe it’s the mix of older timber houses, newer builds, and everything in between. Whatever it is, paint in Auckland feels like it’s always being tested. Sun, damp, sea air, wind, and time all take their turn. Even if you’re not someone who cares about design, you still end up noticing the difference between a home that feels looked after and one that feels like i...

 I’ve always found it interesting how the word “professional” can mean two very different things, depending on who’s saying it. Sometimes it means expertise, the quiet confidence of someone who has done the same kind of work so many times that they know where mistakes usually happen. Other times it’s a performance, a badge people wear to sound credible. When it comes to painting, though, “professional” tends to reveal itself in the most ordinary, unflashy places. You don’t really notice it in the first minute. You notice it over time, in the way a surface still looks clean weeks later, in the way corners don’t peel early, in the way a room feels finished rather than merely “done.” I didn’t grow up thinking much about paint. Paint was just there, the background of family photos and everyday life. But once you start living in different places—rentals, older homes, newer builds—you begin to understand that paint isn’t only aesthetic. It’s a layer of protection. It’s also a layer of m...