I bought my husband an electric screwdriver for Christmas.

Like a child with a new toy, within minutes he was putting up shelves in the kitchen and excitedly planning his next job.

Not wanting me to miss out on this enriching new experience, halfway through the task he handed the gadget to me. It whirred in my hand like a dentist's drill and, once it made contact with the screw, vibrated so much I struggled to keep hold of it.

"You've got to get a firm grip, show it who's boss," said my husband, who fails to understand how I'm able to dive under the bonnet of a car and twiddle with all manner of nuts and bolts, yet I'll run a mile from anything remotely connected with DIY.

I'd like to think I could put up a shelf. I'm sure I could. After all, I can change a wheel and have fixed our vacuum cleaner on numerous occasions. But for some bizarre reason unknown to me, I can't handle the likes of hammering, drilling, grouting, sawing and measuring.

I'm all for equality in the home, but I hate to admit I've got this awful mental block to overcome - the notion that DIY and women just don't mix.

I hate myself for it - I feel truly ashamed when I hand my husband the screwdriver and point towards a loose door hinge, or ask him to fix some window locks. And I feel even worse when he answers, "Why can't you do it yourself?"

But I can't be alone - the entire DIY industry has just launched a major marketing drive to encourage females to muck in.

Sealants will be packaged similarly to hair care products in bright-coloured aerosol cans and will be advertised not by a macho-man in overalls and a tool-belt, but a woman in a ballgown.

The ads will even borrow the language beloved of shampoo commercials - "Press & Go."

Black & Decker is also, supposedly, developing a lighter, easier-to-use range of power tools with women in mind. Apparently, they will be packaged to look altogether less threatening.

This is all very well, but somehow I can't see women flocking to buy heavy-duty multi-mates because they come in delicate shades of fuchsia and look more like Clairol hair styling kits.

To be honest, however hard you try, you can't glamorise a tube of sealant. Imagine the horrified look on women's faces as they plunge their hands into what they think is face cream on their birthdays, only to discover that the neat tub, beautifully packaged in a floral-patterned box, is full-to-the-brim with floor grouting.

If there is one way to patronise and alienate even more women this has got to be it.

Encouragement comes through seeing other women with their sleeves rolled up, confidently wielding paint strippers and sealant guns. The TV programme Changing Rooms seems to have no trouble finding them - no DIY shrinking violets there.

I am getting better - yesterday I put up a hook for our tea towels. One of these days I'll throw up a five-car garage and snooker room while my husband is out at work - now what do they call those female-friendly construction kits..."Build & Go?"

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.