No need for improvisation on the latest Corner Cottage project. Creative juices not required to flow. It’s a pretty bog-standard sand-and-paint, and yet it’s all in service of an upgrade in quality of life as summer leans in on us more and more, bright and hot.Just to rewind a little, let’s think about the kinds of things we dream about when the words ‘Australian country living’ are spoken. Yes, there’s the ute, the home-grown vegetables (more on this soon!), the outdoor pursuits, the close relationship with animals. I think you’d agree we’ve checked all those boxes.

But there’s also dining al fresco. Barbies, sure – this will happen soon – but also sitting on the veranda, eating healthy, nourishing meals while gazing out over sun-dappled fields studded with roos and wombats and the like. That we haven’t done, and not only because of the weather.

Sure, we’ve had the odd coffee while perched on the steps leading to the garden. And when our new sofa came a few weeks ago, our Ikea chairs were turfed out onto the veranda, temporarily, where they have stayed – so we can sit on those of a sunny morning, sipping coffee and staring out over our sun-dappled weed patch, studded with cabbage whites.

But that’s not really the fantasy, is it? It’s not elegant. It’s not family-friendly. When you’re sitting back in a chair designed for lounging, where do you put your orange juice? How do you tackle your gluten-free pancakes? Should you be fortunate enough to have bacon that needs cutting, you’re courting disaster as you balance the plate on your knees while setting-to with knife and fork. It’s true there’s many a slip tween cup and lip, but the slips with runny egg are the really damaging ones.

The key missing element is a table. Not difficult – really quite obvious. But until a week or so ago, we didn’t have one, and none that was available seemed quite right. And then, in a series of unexpected developments, a table arrived. It had history with the family, and let’s say it had patina. It once had an insert to be deployed to create more place settings, but that was long gone. It was the right size and shape, but the colour, like Oscar Wilde’s wallpaper, had to go.

No worries, though (I’m doing my best to adopt the vernacular): I think we’ve established that sandpaper is an essential tool in the amateur craftsman’s toolbelt, and it follows as the night does the day that electrically-powered sandpaper is just that much more of a save-all  item in the toolbelt. And so, with the sun high in the sky and the dust flying, it was Operation Strip Finish, transforming a dull, unremarkable mahogany leaf table, missing two leaves, into a stylish outdoor dining accessory.

But first: protective gear. Factor 50 all over, a sensible hat, sunglasses against the glare and flying debris, and a mask to deter the copious amounts of Victorian varnish dust that would soon be flying about. Not pictured, earbuds that do double duty, protecting the auditory canals while simultaneously channelling an improving podcast into the brain. It’s quite the look, I think you’ll agree.

Now the implement selected for the job is a vintage electrical ‘multi sander’ made by Messrs Bosch in the 1990s: apparently not the ideal implement for the job – an orbital or even random orbit sander is the tool du jour for tables, but let me assure you, your vintage multi is miles better than the traditional hand-and-elbow-grease method. And indeed, rapid progress was made on the tabletop. It’s very satisfying watching the clean wood emerge from beneath decades of dirt and varnish, and spirits soared as it was all done in a few minutes.

But as with most things, a table is a surprisingly complex object. There’s more to it than the top bit where you put your orange juice and fried brekkie. This one, for example, has a decorative moulding around the edge, as well as a structure called the apron, which has a bit of decoration and other detailing on it. It has the regulation four legs, each of which has four surfaces – and these are in what google tells me is the ‘cabriole’ style. ‘Cabriole’ means the legs aren’t straight, but curve and taper from the top, culminating in a hoof-like  . . . foot. All in all, lots of finicky surfaces to sand – and a flat sander doesn’t like curves.

The message here, though, is that we will always find a way. Or another tool, which fortunately had been lurking in the toolbox all along. It’s a flap wheel and looks like this.

And I have no hesitation in endorsing the flap wheel as the best darn thing for stripping a cabriole leg you could ever wish for. Man, it goes great guns! You have to have a steady hand though, given the way the drill’s torque tends to whip the sanding surfaces out from where you want them and all over some piece of crisp detail which in a flash becomes a lot less crisp.

However, the finish decreed for this project was a trendy phenomenon called chalk paint, imparting a matte surface to your object, which can then be sanded and painted again for a dense, uniform surface, or thinned with water for a hip ‘limed’ finish. In our case, some minor issues with the old flap wheel, plus the tendency for mahogany’s end-grain to get a bit furry if rubbed the wrong way, meant it was three good, deep coats of the stuff to hide a multitude of sins.

The last one’s just done, and the coup de grace, so to speak, will be a special wax coating which seals the surface against spilt coffee, slopped orange juice, or spattered egg yolk. This can be vigorously buffed to a nice shine, or left to cure for a more (dare I say) rustic look. think we’re looking at rustic. I can’t face another tour of the skirt and four cabrioles.

Unless there’s a funky polishing attachment I can find for the drill, that is.