Came across some old photographs whilst packing. The ones here are photographs of the house I shared with two friends while we were at university. Very quaint. A lot of chintz. But a lot of fond memories. Like our eccentric neighbour, the middle-aged music teacher, who used to water the flowers in his speedo-style briefs. The combination of sagging, liver-spotted flesh and water fanning out from crotch level was funny-disturbing… Or the hedgehog that decided to set up home in the pile of branches and weeds we wanted to burn after a pre-summer [barbeque season!] clean up. I think we waited a few days before finally setting it alight, giving the branches a good shake beforehand and hoping that Mr. Hedgehog had found a safer place to live. I think… Barbeque season might have come a little earlier for some tragic souls! Oops!
Anyway, the back wall was shrouded in ivy. Quite beautiful. I just loved the way the marigold dishwashing gloves were positioned in the window. So elegant. So gay. I’d do strange things to get my hands on that chintz armchair. Funny how one’s appreciation of things change over the years. Actually, I lie. I liked it as much now as I did then. No accounting for taste!_