Originally published in The Clifton Courier, July 11, 2018

Hardware stores are the ultimate pick-me-up.

Forget about the pub, or the super cheap department store where you have to burrow that niggling feeling that everything has been made by what may as well be slave labour; the hardware store is the place to go if you need to pep yourself up.

It’s a place of possibilities. Everyone there is doing something – they’re making something or fixing something or growing something. Those pieces of lumber will soon be a planter box or a tree house or a deck where people will one day gather around a cob loaf. There are barbecues and dreams and that smell of timber that really should have been made into a scented candle by now*. You walk out of there with purpose, warm contentedness and, probably, a bag of potting mix.

* I don’t understand why Glasshouse hasn’t jumped on this. That hilarious photoshopped picture of the plywood and sausage sizzle scented candle has been shared widely with only positive connotations. It has all the markings of commercial success. The world is more than ready for hardware store scented candle, someone just needs to be brave enough to stand up and make it happen. 

But the best thing about hardware stores is that you never regret your impulse buys.

When you make an impulse purchase at the supermarket, it often ends in disappointment and shame. It’s like, say, trying to recapture your carefree, hopeful youth by buying a nostalgic Curly Wurly that definitely wasn’t on your shopping list. You end up bitterly picking sugary gunk out of your teeth, with thoughts creeping in about potential cavities and how you can’t afford to see the dentist, reminding you that your childhood has long passed. And the one thing you don’t need when you’re faced with a painful realisation about the cruel passing of time is a caramel-induced sugar crash after a sweet but fleeting high.

But hardware store impulse buys don’t make you confront your own mortality, nor do they threaten to derail your diet.

Nope, they’re just useful, handy little items that will only make your life better. They’re positive, but not in a sickly-sweet kind of way. They’re positive in a practical way.

They don’t make empty promises to fix your life like, say, a facemask. And they don’t pledge to relax you like a fancy herbal tea, which uses words like “rejuvenate” and “soothe” when they really mean, “I taste like someone mixed dirt in with jelly crystals”.

No, these items are like “oi, mate, seal ya window with me and we’ll stop that draft together” or “take me home and next time you have to tighten the screw on your wobbly saucepan handle, you won’t bugger up another knife”.

In fact, everything I’ve bought from the hardware has improved my life demonstrably.

To prove my point, I’ve included a list of my 2018 hardware haul for you to enjoy (because, if you’ve read this far down, you clearly have nothing better to do):

Toilet seat: I’ve written about this before, but sweet baby cheeses did it change my life. There’s something about knowing you’re not at risk of contracting butt tinea from some grubby person’s mysterious rear end that fills you with sunshine. Highly recommend.

WD40: Before, in my dark days, the sliding door to the bathroom was extremely difficult to open – it felt like I was rolling a rock from the opening of a cave each time I went to take a shower.

But then I let WD40 into my life and everything changed. The first easy slide of that bathroom door was like the feeling you get when you have blocked ears and they both pop – I suddenly understood what life was supposed to be like. It was a miracle.

I skipped around the house and began lubricating anything metallic that moved as if I was a spiritual healer, anointing them with WD40. I had seen the light and there was no going back to the darkness.

I now follow a WD40 meme page on Facebook.

Radiator heater: This little guy has given me so much. I turn it on, shut my bedroom door and, after about 15 minutes, my room feels like a cup of tea. The best part is that I need to have my room shut off for it to be effective, giving me the perfect excuse to be anti-social and block myself off from the rest of the apartment.

Zip ties: These are the equivalent to having a spare hairband on your wrist – you just need to have them handy just in case.

An indoor plant: It doesn’t matter that it thrives on neglect, this little guy gives me a sense of pride for having kept it alive for so long. And even though it needs minimal care, knowing I was able to provide this absolute bare minimum of care feels like personal progress. The plant is growing, and so am I.