Leaving my beautiful home…or rather my once beautiful home
The process of leaving is made easier by the weasels that inhabit my home. I know I should see it as their home, but instead I hold on to the image of serene living pre infestation. I had an L shaped cream sofa huge oak framed wall mirror, stripy stair carpets, expensive bed linen, all the trappings of designer control and order. There was a time when I badgered my then lodger Paul about dropping fragments of pistachio husk on the floor. He raised an eyebrow and said dryly just wait until you have kids. I thought ‘what do you mean..? I won’t feed them pistachios and if i do I sure as heck won’t let them drop the dusty surrounds on the floor.’ Gosh that was before the veil dropped. I didn’t realise he meant…you will allow cascades of cheap toys and their many looseable parts in, to cover every surface and hide in every corner spoiling any loosely held aesthetic. Have smears of excrement here, dribbles there, discover mysterious hieroglyphics on the walls and eventually ...