Happiness is... getting change for £10 after proffering a fiver.

Or being home alone with a box of Belgian chocolates and a classic Morse video; waking in a panic at 9.30am, then realising it's Sunday; a sharp knife, a tub of ready-mixed Polyfilla and the challenge of a rotten door frame.

What? Can I be serious? Indeed I can, having spent the Bank Holiday weekend removing generous portions of rotting wood from my back door and patiently replacing the timber with layers of Polyfilla.

I tell you, it is totally addictive and definitely therapeutic work.

When I started I was a jangling bag of nerves, now I'm totally at peace with the world . . . well, with one exception.

"That looks interesting," said The Mother, viewing my handiwork on the first day.

"Gerroff!" I replied. "Go find your own rotten wood. This is mine."

"But you've missed a bit in the bottom right hand corner," she continued, ignoring my orders. "Here, let me ..."

"Go away and stop interfering," I snapped. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

Which wasn't quite the truth, of course. All I knew was that I'd originally intended to renovate the back door and frame and instead had discovered it was so rotten that when I scraped away the old paint splinters of decaying wood came away with it.

The more I looked, the more rot I found - one section literally crumbled when I pressed it with my thumb. At first I was dismayed, then told myself that the very worse scenario involved me having to buy a new back door.

Buy a new back door? I have better things to do with my money - the front door needs replacing for a start. So, although outstandingly deficient in DIY skills, I found a short, sharp, vegetable knife and started to attack the rot.

Soon the door looked as if it had been used for target practice by some myopic gunslinger and the surrounding area was covered with fragments of blackened wood.

Then came the interesting part, requiring not a little skill and a touch of artistry - making good the torn and savaged surface with dollops of Polyfilla.

After half an hour or so I gave up on the palette knife I was using - too fiddly - and used my fingers instead. Bad mistake. Although I washed my hands very thoroughly to remove the filler, the skin on my fingers started to peel and the washed away filler resulted in a partial blockage in the sink.

Yet despite these mishaps - including a large fly expiring in my tub of Polyfilla while I was having a tea break - I really enjoyed my afternoon's work.

The next day the filler had set and I started to sandpaper my handiwork to make the surfaces smooth and level before painting.

The Mother returned just as I had finished.

"Very nice! You've done a very good job," she said pleasantly.

A couple of minutes later she put her head round the door. "There's something I think you should see," she whispered.

I walked with her to the patio window. "Look," she said, and poked a finger into the wooden frame.

"Go on - it's all yours," I told her, handing over the Polyfilla and the knife.

Spread a little happiness, that's what I say.