A blog for those who remember good customer service, toast racks and typewriters
Friday, August 15, 2014
My house, in the middle of my sheet, my house...
Another cold night in this most genuine of winters, Max and I sit down to a few taped re-runs of To The Manor Born starring the ever excellent Penelope Keith whilst Max and I dream of a big stately home. For me fireplaces in every room, for him - medieval tapestries to sink his claws into. Our dreams of staff on call and salmon swimming upstream in his food bowl will remain in fantasy land real estate with reality being cold rooms, drafty corridors and constant upkeep only afforded by a large television production company. We dream of a wood burning stove with time for bread and cakes cooked while warming ancient kitchen tiles. Having had many a one sided argument with my modern, too many settings stainless steel variety, I sometimes think I would be better off with a wrought iron beast that provided just two settings, hot and bloody hot. The modern house while efficient and bright, holds no interest for me with attention seeking down lights ensuring we can't move sideways without being in the spotlight. The indoor outdoor concept just confuses me and open plan really means very little planning other than well, just open. I guess we all have an idea of our perfect house. When my first grade teacher asked us to draw our house, I can guarantee that in my little primary school of suburbia not one of us came from anything remotely like the Georgian designs we had crayoned onto the paper. Middle front door, window either side, upstairs windows and chimney. Long live the crayoned house I say. And it did.