What I was expecting to feel was a sort of exhausted relief that we'd finally got the job done without too much damage occurring. Not so; I'm improbably delighted, especially with the door. Our old door (also blue) was peeling paint over rotting wood, a soft yale lock, half single glazed with security glass marked with a star-shaped crack where someone had decided to test its strength. Rain sank into the outside, condensation into the inside. Stay-at-home nosy neighbours are the best security system, and we're surrounded by them, but nevertheless there was always the feeling of getting away with it, that sooner or later we'd come home to find it had fallen victim to a tiny kicking from a small child. Indeed, as the workmen removed it, the old door frame disintegrated into rotten splinters.
Now that leaky, insecure orifice has been replaced with a tidy, solid, impermeable seal, and I'm improbably delighted, in a strange, ancient way -- a touch of connection with the first cavepeople who thought to roll a rock across their door at night.