Right, so I need to tell you about the time I completely mucked up a bathroom renovation because I got obsessed with wainscoting. It started innocently enough – I was round at my mate Dave’s place for dinner, used his downstairs loo, and couldn’t stop staring at these gorgeous wooden panels he’d put up. Made this tiny space look like something from a proper country house instead of a 1990s builder’s afterthought.
I came home and immediately started googling bathroom wainscoting at half past eleven at night, which is never a good sign. My girlfriend found me three hours later still scrolling through Pinterest boards with names like “Traditional Bathroom Goals” and “Timeless Panelling Ideas.” She just shook her head and went to bed – she knows when I get fixated on a home improvement project there’s no talking me out of it.
The thing is, our downstairs loo was genuinely grim. Standard magnolia paint that showed every mark, and I mean every mark. Water spots, mysterious splashes, fingerprints from guests who apparently couldn’t work out how to wash their hands properly. You know how bathrooms just attract mess? Even when you’re reasonably tidy, somehow there’s always something to clean off the walls.
So I thought, brilliant, wainscoting will solve this. Protect the walls, look sophisticated, job done. Except I made the classic mistake of going for the cheapest option first. Peel-and-stick panels from B&Q, forty-three quid, what could go wrong? Everything, as it turned out.
The packaging made it look so simple – just peel off the backing and stick to the wall. They didn’t mention that your walls need to be perfectly flat, which obviously ours weren’t because it’s a Victorian conversion and nothing is straight in this building. The panels kept lifting at the edges, creating these horrible gaps that collected dust and looked terrible.
Persevered for about two months, constantly pressing the edges back down, until one particularly steamy shower caused half of one panel to curl up like a crisp packet. That was it, the whole lot had to come off. Spent a Saturday afternoon picking adhesive residue off the walls with a putty knife while muttering about false economy and why I never learn from my mistakes.
Round two involved actual wood, which I should have done from the start. Got some 1×4 pine boards from the timber yard, painted them white to match our skirting boards, and installed them about three feet up the wall. The difference was night and day – not just how it looked, though that was miles better, but practically too. That bottom section where most of the splashing happens is now protected by proper paint that wipes clean instead of soaking into the plaster.
Getting the height right took some trial and error. Well, not actual trial and error because I’m not made of money, but a lot of standing in the bathroom holding bits of wood at different heights while my girlfriend shouted “higher” or “lower” from the doorway. Too high and it chops the room in half, too low and it looks like you ran out of materials halfway through. Thirty-six inches worked perfectly in our small space, though I’ve seen it work higher in rooms with tall ceilings.
The material choice thing is crucial, and I learned this the expensive way after the peel-and-stick disaster. Initially thought about MDF because it was cheaper than solid wood, but my dad talked me out of it. “Bathrooms and moisture don’t mix well with chipboard,” he said, which is his diplomatic way of saying I was being an idiot. He was right – spent the extra twenty quid on proper timber and it’s still perfect eighteen months later.
For our upstairs bathroom, I went with tongue-and-groove beadboard panels instead of the flat boards. Bit more expensive but the vertical lines make the space feel taller, which is useful when you’re working with a room that’s basically a large cupboard. Got them from a proper timber merchant rather than the DIY shed – better quality wood that doesn’t have knots in annoying places.
The installation was straightforward once I stopped trying to be clever and actually measured things properly. First attempt, I trusted my eye for getting the boards level. My eye, it turns out, is rubbish at judging horizontal lines. Had to take down three boards and start again with a proper spirit level, which I should have used from the beginning.
One thing that really surprised me was how much easier cleaning became. That bottom section of wall that takes all the abuse from splashing and general bathroom chaos now wipes down in seconds instead of needing a proper scrub. The semi-gloss paint I used on the panels just shrugs off marks that would have stained the original matt emulsion.
Made one properly stupid mistake though – tried to paint everything in place instead of painting the boards before installation. What a nightmare that was, trying to get even coverage on narrow strips while they’re already nailed to the wall. Took three times as long and didn’t look as good. Next time, definitely painting everything flat before putting it up.
The guest bathroom got a different treatment – simple flat panels with thin trim around the edges. Made them from sheets of MDF (yes, I know I said MDF was a bad idea, but this was a different situation with better ventilation) cut into rectangles. Painted the whole lot the same colour as the walls but in a different finish – satin instead of matt. The subtle difference in sheen creates texture without any fussy details, and it cost about fifty quid for materials.
People definitely notice the difference. Had my brother-in-law ask who did the work because it looked “proper professional,” which was quite satisfying given that my DIY skills are usually the subject of family jokes. The downstairs loo in particular feels like a completely different room – still tiny, but deliberately tiny rather than just neglected.
Six months later, our nephew came to stay for a week during school holidays. Teenage boys and bathrooms are not a good combination, as anyone who’s lived with one will tell you. The wainscoting cleaned up perfectly while the painted wall above still showed evidence of his visit. That’s when I knew this wasn’t just about making the place look nicer – it was actually making my life easier.
If I was starting over, I’d skip all the budget options and go straight to proper materials. Would also invest in a decent mitre saw from day one instead of trying to make precise cuts with a hand saw like some sort of Victorian carpenter. And definitely, definitely use a level from the start instead of thinking I can eyeball straight lines.
The whole project cost about £180 in materials across both bathrooms, took three weekends to complete properly, and genuinely transformed two of the most-used spaces in our flat. Not bad for someone whose previous carpentry experience was limited to putting up IKEA shelves and hoping they didn’t fall down.
