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Writer's Block: Home sweet home

Do you have a favorite aesthetic style in terms of home design? If money were no object, how would you change your home?


Show rooms are all well and good, sparkling counters, where the handles for the cupboards match the kitchen taps. Soft leather sofas that you can't sit on in case you wrinkle the leather. Pristine white carpets that look soft, but you will never know because you too afraid to tread on them.

Even more well and good are the homes filled with antiques, the kind where the rooms are so grand that you walk in and you're afraid to breath too much in case you damage this or that BEAUTIFUL thing.

For me though, my perfect home is always going to be somewhere to invite people in. Rooms with furniture not just made for sitting, but for sprawling. Film night sofas, and sturdy kitchen chairs, that don't match anything at all, sometimes not even each-other.

Art that you have collected over the years that you bought because you liked it, not because it was a good investment. A home shouldn't be all about investment, it should be about families, friends and wine stains on the carpet, even when you did tip salt all over it in a futile effort to rid yourself of that fond memory.

Because that is the way like to live, I find myself not collecting paintings but rugs, throws and cushions, all artfully arranged to hide this or that mark where uncle x fought with uncle y and spilt pasta sauce, all because we couldn't decide what was a better car, the jag XF or the Aston Martin DB9.

I want a home filled with sounds, smells and textures. Colour not only hinted at, but everywhere. I wont be afraid of painting small rooms dark colours, a small room will always be small, if there is enough light then why worry about what colour a room is.

But first I need to get a house, anyone got a free one they don't mind giving away?
Leaping lizards Caped-Crusader!

Welcome to the Strange

"An inch or so above the bed
the yellow blindspot hovers
where the last incumbent’s greasy head
has worn away the flowers.

Every night I have to rest
my head in his dead halo;
I feel his heart tick in my wrist;
then, below the pillow,

his suffocated voice resumes
its dreary innuendo.
there are other ways to leave the room
than the door and the window."

Monthly mayhem

February 2011
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