Saturday, September 09, 2006

Where are my car keys, fridge magnets and that one mouldy orange?

I've just had a truly hideous dream, a real frightener. I found myself living in the Vogue-Home-Interior-Design-InsideOut-WallPaper-Beautiful-Moda feature house, all set out in its pristine, ready for Mr Photographer, glory. How do real people actually live in these places?

My day started in my bedroom, just after sunrise. It was a pretty stressful experience waking up to that stark modern environment. Lord knows where my ugg boots and dressing gown were hiding, or my stack of old magazines and hand lotion. Not to mention the old chair with my 'not quite ready for the laundry' clothes draped all over it. My ratty, 'Dire Straits Brothers in Arms Tour 1985-1986' t-shirt/pyjamas didn't exactly suit the decor either.

My confusion increased when I entered my bathroom, trying to find out just where the hell the taps were in order to empty my bladder, wash my hands and have a shower. Perhaps it was just as well that the water pipes couldn't be found because towels were obviously too last year to display or use and it was impossible to find any Mega Saver Pump Packs of Sorbolene Liquid Soap anywhere. I realised that I'd just have to make sure I didn't lift my BO-ridden arms up above my body or comb my oily hair too flat.

Well, set Crazy Kevin's Lubricated Goat Aflame! What kind of geometric joke was this? How the hell was any sane human being supposed to cope with such a retina-shattering design before their first coffee? Speaking of which, where the hell did all of the appliances go? The alphabet fridge magnets? The fruit bowl with the single pongy orange, the black banana and wizened avocado? Where was the stack of unpaid bills, car keys and rubber bands? More importantly, how come the bench tops didn't have a few stray rice grains or some toast crumbs, or, at the very least, one dog crunchie wedged in between the cupboard and the floor? Perhaps I was a laboratory rat being filmed for some new reality show, 'Let's put the Duh Back Into Design....??

Surely the lounge would be a place to escape and get a bit of rest and relaxation. Ghee whillikers - who stole the four remote controls I needed to turn on the TV, program the VCR, switch over to DVD and fiddle with the aerial? The TV guide was nowhere to be seen either and whoever racked off with my knitting bag or Dogadoo's beanbag was just begging for a hiding. My spirits were indeed starting to sag, so I looked around for a comfy chair.

I said COMFY, not NUTTY! Why on earth would I buy (or sit) in a clay chair squeezed through an overgrown pasta press? I fretted that it leave a dusty orange smear on my arse when I got up to leave the house for oh, say a job interview or television appearance. Oh well, maybe it was the one you offered the pushier kinds of Jehovah's Witnesses or the council rates guy with the clipboard.

This one was even worse! Lord help me if I pulled up to the kitchen counter in this thing - one drink and I'd be on the floor, in danger of being removed by the interior design stylist responsible for the layout. Hang on, I tried to tell myself - that's not a chair, it's just a shoe horn for really big basketball players. ....Isn't it?

This dream was definitely NOT working out too well. Hmmmmm, *sigh*....well, it was about now that I could feel the beginnings of a migraine starting up and these weren't the doctor's chairs I'd be wanting to sit in.

Nah, give me my own place anytime. What it's got in cracks, wonky walls, dodgy 1980s coloured walls, brass bathroom taps and lack of storage it makes up for with character, age, solidity, soundproofness, warmth in winter and coolness in summer. The walls ring with the sound of Sapphire's singing, chattering and playing; Dogadoo enhances the garden by sunning herself on the lawn; and the kitchen stars with the most lovingly-created and delectable dishes cooked by Love Chunks. I'm not sure what enhancements I add to the home - a regular laundry service and an irregular, resentful weeding regime topped a whole new layer of unnecessary stress is my guess - but, after every single holiday, we three always walk in the door and say, "Gee it's good to be home."

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