heart at home

All this rain, ruining picnic plans and postponing play at Wimbledon. It’s the first day of summer and I should probably be more put out than I actually am. Instead, I’m watching the drops slip down the glass of the window while I’m tucked up snuggly on the sofa in my study. We’ve been in our flat for almost five months and the literal blood, sweat and (almost) tears that have gone into never-ending DIY - sanding, painting, cleaning, hammering – finally feel worth it. I hesitate to count the many hours lost to perusing furniture catalogues and websites. Our magazine rack is testament to my addiction to Elle Decoration and Ideal Home. Having just crowned our newly acquired, stripy loveseat the ‘piece de resistance’ of the living room, we spotted a gigantic wall clock in Spain. I just knew that the rustic, French country-style theme would never be complete without it. Now, all other furniture lies in its shadow. My mother says it looks like we got it from a scrapyard. Good taste is clearly not genetic.
Replacing the burnt-out oven we inherited with the property moved further and further down the priority list in favour of aesthetics. However, one scorched meal too many finally pushed me over the edge. On Thursday a shiny new oven was delivered and the old health-and-safety risk removed. Is it sad to admit that this was the highlight of my week? Too late. Heston’s lemon tart, strawberry-cheesecake cupcakes and fluffy fruit cobbler have all been produced sans crispy edges and already Fox is begging me to have mercy on his waistline.
To most it would seem like tedious domesticity but I look around and I really love our little home. It may be disappointingly dismal outside but, even if summer never arrives, it’s warm and cosy at home.