Aggressive hoovering and other mistakes

It was Sunday and as we all know, Sundays are for hoovering.
Also, bed sheet washing. But mainly hoovering.
I live in a rented house and the hoover is a cheap one. Something just to be put under the stairs in the hope that a tenant will occasionally open the door and haul it out.
I, however, am much more heavily acquainted with our hoover and bring it out quite regularly.
Not just for spills and drops, but for regular maintenance around the house.
Noticing some crumbs and sock fluff dotted around on my rug (as well as the fact that it was a Sunday), I knew it was time for me to head back under the stairs.
Cleaning is a bit of a coping mechanism for me. I like to do it when I'm stressed or worried. Luckily for my landlord, that's pretty much all the time, so at least someone is benefiting.
I start on the upstairs - I won't lie, it's going pretty well. I'm championing my rug and even the floaty old bits of cobweb around the ceiling corners.
I venture out into the hallway - toward my unexpected undoing.
As I started to progress, the hoover got stuck around the corner of the landing. To try and remedy the situation, I impatiently yanked the suction pipe to bring it back towards me.
It clattered resentfully around the wall and took with it a chunk of plaster and paint.
My heart sank but I was in too much of a state of shock and panic to even contemplate what to do next. Instead, I just hoovered up the evidence - the large bits of wall clinked loudly up the metal tube as I pushed the hoover's budget skills to the limit.
For the next couple of days, I considered just leaving it but the large clay-coloured patch was bothering me more than I hoped it would.
It was time to take action.
I headed to Wilkos and bought a selection of "multi-purpose" DIY products which included some Polyfilla, a palette knife and a sanding block - medium coarse.
I didn't actually get round to approaching my mini project until the following Friday night. I'd been out to dinner with friends and instead of doing something normal like relaxing, I found myself squatting on the upstairs landing, tools in hand.
I squidged, bodged and blended as best as I could. And after employing the upper limits of my cake decorating skills, I managed to create something that was passable - as long as you didn't look too closely.

Looking back over the past three years, I've lived in four different houses with a total of 25 different people. But this is the first house where I have actually felt at home.
I've always felt safe and warm. My room is my haven and for the first time in a long time, I can say that I don't have trouble sleeping here. The kitchen is always full of bags and bottles and we leave the occasional packet of biscuits or packet of sweets out to share.
Sometimes we cook together. And even though there have been more and more rings appearing on the cooker top, they're signs of life and I'm grateful to have shared some of my time here.

And if life has taught me anything so far, it's that you never know what's around the corner
- and also, that corners can be quite delicate and easily damaged by oncoming budget hoovers.