As is my want, and from time to time, I can be found browsing the pages of Fine and Country in order to plan how and where I will spend my lottery winnings, for that day is fast approaching, surely.
And time and again I am shocked by the images therein and as I shake my head in despair I ponder on the formula that states something on the lines that the incidence of poor taste increases proportionately with the amount of money stashed away, or something. There are graphs and everything to prove this.
There are also houses for sale that prove this, this one for instance, I mean come on, would you live in a house like this ?
Can you imagine a huge and oft-muddy and always very hairy Golden Retriever living in a house like that, long white dogs hairs sticking to every fabric surface and gathering in clumps in every corner and orifice ?
Can you imagine two teenage girls living in a house like that, hundreds of pairs of shoes cast aside where they were kicked off on those shiny granite tiled floors ?
Can you imagine those bathrooms with a dozen wet used towels and bath sheets on the floor, bottles of shampoo and shower gel, empty and half full scattered randomly around and “ladies” pink razors in abundance ?
Can you imagine that kitchen with the counter tops full of dirty cups, plates and cutlery because no-one can be arsed filling the sink to wash them ?
Can you picture a clothes horse in that dining room or washing draped over the radiators in the living room ?
Can you see dog poo all over that manicured lawn, ten old footballs lurking in the shrubbery and various plastic childrens “outdoor toys” scattered randomly around ?
No neither can I.
And why, given an unlimited budget, why do those people who own such places hand over the task of interior design to the sort of people who are more used to decorating avent garde flower shops and nightclubs ?
Put simply, if I lived in a house like that I’d have a permanent migraine.
That may be a luxury house but I doubt it it would ever be a comfortable home. I have been in ‘magazine pages’ like that, but I am much happier when I can call at a back door and share a coffee at a well used kitchen table.
I agree wholeheartedly! Nobody can “live” in such a house, at least not anybody I would want to be friends with!
The concept of popping in the back door and sitting at a kitchen table with a cup of coffee is a fine one and far preferable than standing in a garish entrance hall wondering if your shirt will match the decor