Sunday, January 20, 2008

On domesticity. I have had some really shit share-house experiences, and also some share-houses that I never enjoyed spending time in. But right now I am content just to hang out at home. I take pleasure in making it look beautiful (well, as much as a gracefully decrepit share house can look) eating food I've prepared at home, enjoying doing very little at home. In fact, over my Christmas holiday I spent a week at home doing pretty much nothing.

Today I went shopping. It made me extremely happy to stare at this arrangement of pink roses on the kitchen table, cup of tea at my elbow, the weekend papers in easy reach for my leisurely perusal, knowing that in the bathroom was a fresh cake of my favourite soap, plenty of toilet paper, and a new can of air freshener in "Clean Linen" fragrance to replace the hateful "Orchid Garden" that puffed a disgusting fruity smell throughout the house. Meanwhile in my bedroom, two pillows in new white pillowcases lurked plumply on my bed, and a bottle of Palmer's Cocoa Butter availed itself for my emolliation.

I am conflicted over the issue of domesticity. In a way it is a pornography of time - not so much the luxury of being surrounded by 'nice things', but the ability to take the time to appreciate them. Which I definitely do. I have written before about the hedonism of domesticity; in a way it replaces the other things that are missing in my life. Missing the large pleasures, I take time to appreciate the small ones.

In much the same way, I was thrilled on a recent flight when I was upgraded to business class, and at a recent film screening for work which took place at a Gold Class cinema, and was catered with espresso coffee and croissants filled with ham and brie. If I did these things regularly, I would become the kind of awful chump who finds no joy in simple things because they become baseline living standards. So I am happy to cherish the small everyday flourishes of domesticity that I can provide.

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