Why life is a beach...

On the afternoon of THAT day, I filled the bath with warm water, bathed and towelled up. But I did not unplug the bath; no, I left the scented pool in situ, and I spent the evening dipping in and out, refreshing and relaxing as the fancy took me, between taskes on the settee, sipping iced water and contemplating pages of print. I had dissed off other options - beaches, parks, squares - as involving merciless sun and murderous public transport. With the kitchen nearby, and a ready supply of teabags and milk, bread and salad, drinks and snacks were ever at hand. Take one couch, a tower fan and jug of warer - why, life is a beach, and I love to lie upon it....

Sofology so good

My ad of the moment is Sofology, you know, the one with the cute blond guy extolling the virtues of all things sofa – and home – and do I agree with him? My favourite outside of work pastime involves floating in domestic space on an upholstered surface, with drinks on tap – I think they call it the kitchen – and NO commuting afterwards – aaah! My guy is right; home is incredible… Which is why I read with concern of how a number of top bosses are installing sleep pods to enable workers to catch bouts of shut-eye between takes. Since I have never experienced a sleep pod, I cannot comment on the extent of their comfort, or otherwise. What I found slightly disconcerting in Andre Spicer’s report (Should we be allowed to sleep at work? Guardian newspaper) is that he reports one subject as saying that, with access to a sleep pod: “there is no need to go home”. Eh?
Never to leave the office behind, following a long day’s slog?
Never to hop on train, bus or automobile and presently, put the key in the front door lock?
Never to enjoy warm shower before slipping into jammies and slippers, and partaking of hot supper in front of animated television screen?
And never to lie in one’s own bed and – gasp – sleep in it?
Quelle horreur!
Even if you totally love your occupation – and who does not want to – surely you have to leave the office behind sometime?
Even if, like me, such leaving off involves moving a mere few yards from self-assembled executive chair and computer stand, to the nearby couch?
Feel free to enlighten me, but even with the most comfortable sleep pod in the world, surely..?

The end of furniture fascism

It was the joy of our household and dominated it for two decades, a classical artefact nestled within a very nondescript piece of architecture (our family house!), the sacrificial altar that was the sideboard. The elephant in the dining room, there it sat brooding darkly and majestically, overlooking every nuance of our little lives. Only the best was good enough for that piece of Victoriana, lace runners and crystal bowls and family photos and ornaments. The pair of doors on its sturdy pedestal fronted a trove of damask table linens, and best and second-best crockery and cutlery – ye gods, the Penates had nothing on this! The sideboard was actually hewn from a fine piece of wood, but its classical references demanded a symmetry of arrangement on top and all about it that our chaotic lives simply could not live up to. As I grew older, I hated the thing more and more.
You are not perfect, it seemed to glower at every turn. You are not ordered, symmetrical, classically lovely or harmoniously beautiful. Nor was I – thank heavens then for modernism, an Enlightenment that heralded lighter and more rational furniture. No more domineering artefacts; no symmetry, centring or classical gravity sucking everything into its black hole. In my now modernistic realm, the family of five Billy bookcases is beholden to me.
I am the master of my furniture, not its miserable servant. I can reorganise my Billys at a whim, reconfigure the shelves to my dictat, push the bookcases together or move them apart. In summary, the shelves morph in accordance with my ever-changing needs. The shelves are all at one a showcase for my essays into conceptual art, a resting place for my executive toys and a safe harbour for my literary volumes – in short, my furniture shows the world who I am. (to be continued)

Fishies

In the Zen garden....swimming silently by.....rippling water.....flicking fins....reflected leaves....the fair....the redhead.......watch out for the dark one.....

Trafalgar Square

Ain't the winter days long and dreary? Come and join this mini-tour of Trafalgar Square at its summer best....crowds of people...fountains playing....pigeons....National Gallery....trees....Neslon's Column....St Martin's Church....!

The most wonderful herbs....

Herbs for health and beauty and superb dining and sweet scents and lovely gardens and many other uses......

Beside the sea

Enjoy this meditative montage of seaside imagery, the perfect antidote to this January weather.....