So, I write about creating 'Havens' all the time don't I? My home in NZ (above - last picture you'll see of moi for awhile - it's far too frightening!) was the living embodiment of all I believe in. Simple pleasures and a rested mind. My edible garden - tucked in amongst the roses and lavender were scattered a few rhubarb plants, cherry trees, herbs, tomatoes, coffee beans, lettuce and very cherished olive trees. Inside, enough books to open a (small) library, and plenty of places to sit down and read them. An ample table that seated 10 (or 14) and big platters to serve roast chicken. Wooden floors, paint on the walls that looked like clouds, plump hand-made cushions and quilts. Pictures of family, souvenirs from travels far and wide and precious things passed down and found. Lastly, two dogs and an aging but determined moggy.
So London was meant to be the new and improved (because of the lovely Ed) version. Our flat here was meant to be temporary. I mean, come on, how could two adults, two rapidly growing children and a dog live in a two bedroomed flat with a small balcony. Ridiculous. Where were my reading chairs going to go, not to mentioned the prized table!
Except, here we are almost two years later. Circumstances have prevented us from moving. But never was this flat permanent in my head. Always planning, cycling around looking for a new place to live. Hopes dashed time and time again.
So I gave in. Ed's children made me. Last weekend I took myself off into the bedroom to read, so that Ed and O & F could have their time together. Less than three minutes later, both children were sitting on the bed asking me 'are you ok', what are you doing' and the killer - 'can we help'.
So now I'm home. Flat 9 in the Lavender Building is the best Haven I could ask for. Over the next month or so, No. 9 will get a bit of a transformation both physically and mentally. I shall practice what I preach, and maybe flick up a few piccies as we go.
Ed, Lily, Frankie, Oscar, books, art, copper pots and a few quilts - that's a good start isn't it?
Labels: Home is where the heart is ·