Love your room
Very quickly. I need to get into the bath.
Weekends are fab. There are so many brilliant things about an entirely free weekend during which time I can – if I really push myself – relax.
One of those things is the Friday night ritual at WHSmith on Waterloo Station, browsing magazines I’ve no intention of reading in pursuit of a few tasty morsels I’m prepared to fork out some cash for a spot of weekend reading curled up on the sofa.
Weekend jobs normally beg to be done but languish unloved, like clearing up the remnants of the tomato plants or sweeping up the patio. I see it every day and promise myself I’ll do it at the weekend. I never do.
So it is with our upstairs sitting room thing. It’s been decorated. It’s got the furniture in it. It’s just missing some love. And when there’s no love in it, I’m less likely to spend any time in it. And the less time I spend in it, the less love there is for it.
Which is why I’m surprised to realise that just an hour spent dusting stuff, vacuuming, realigning the book shelves and laying out the stereo so the cables aren’t strewn everywhere and suddenly I feel at home in there again.
It’s as though some rooms just need a bit of love before they’re habitable.