My Fantasy!

I am sitting at the dining table looking out at the oak trees that edge the allotments at the end of our road, listening to a chaffinch "pinking" away somewhere, his call somewhat undermined by the melodious warbling of a blackbird.

It all sounds very idealistic but I actually live on a busy road almost opposite an industrial estate - there is a constant flow of through-traffic and a plane overhead about every 2 minutes.  The dining table is shoved in the far end of the lounge, and is currently occupied by one of my cats, who thinks it is a superb sprawl spot. It is also a great vantage point when he feels the need (quite frequently) to regurgitate his food, as it allows for maximum splatter range.

Why am I blogging today?  Well, I was on facebook earlier, looking at a post by TalkAboutCreative, which asked how neat one's work area was.  It struck me that I don't really have a work area!  We live in a one-bedroomed first floor maisonette, which has a garden (yay) that is the size of a postage stamp (boo).  The bedroom houses a whole wealth of junk, including college books, folders, bellydance clothes, craft bits n bobs (four boxes of assorted papers, ribbons, adhesives etc. under the bed), old vinyl waiting to be sorted for charity, baby clothes that are too big, baby clothes that are too small (waiting to see if a friend is having a boy or a girl so I can determine whether to send clothes on, or charity shop them), baby toys, baby, cot and random crap that seems to have accumulated.  Oh, and half the contents of the bathroom following our flood last week*.  

The lounge is mainly filled with books.  Lots of books. Three bookcases and three shelves.  And they're overflowing....  the lounge is also housing two boxes of other crafty stuff (one box for soap/bathbomb type things that I make as gifts for friends & family, one box for jewellery-making bits and bobs), hubby's guitars, amplifiers and associated equipment, cat toys, baby toys, baby bouncing chair and other random bathroom equipment.  You get the picture.

I got to fantasizing about my ideal house/workspace as I have been sitting around for the last 90 minutes waiting for an independent insurance assessor to come out and evaluate the carpet that has been taken off the stairs post-flood.

My ideal house would be detached, and in some accessible but quiet countryside, preferably not too 'agriculturally improved'.  It would have a cellar, which we could convert into a soundproofed music studio with storage for aforementioned amps, guitars and other accessories. There would be a decent-sized hallway, from which the stairs led up to three bedrooms and family bathroom. From that landing, there'd be another staircase up to the loft, nestled under the eaves.  Here I'd do my crafting, and try not to get distracted by the views.

On the ground floor would be a kitchen that would house a dining table (alas, I don't think ours is for the world too much longer, it belonged to my grandparents and was bought in 1923), and have plenty of cupboard space, plus an adjacent utility/boot room.  It would have a door with garden access, outside which herbs and vegetables would be within easy reach.  A study cum-library would take care of the books, and the laminate floor in the lounge would give me space to practice dancing or for the baby to play safely.

The garden would have space for chickens to scratch out a living, a wildlife pond, and be full of native trees, shrubs and flowers, making it a haven for butteflies, bees, slow-worms, hedghogs and other creatures.  A small water feature could tinkle away on the patio, where we could sit out on warm summer evenings, under the shade of clematis, wisteria, honeysuckle and jasmine.  Tucked away in a corner would be a play area...

I would spend my days making cards, baking, making jam, making jewellery and being a domestic goddess.  In my ultimate fantasy, we'd have a small cottage close by that we hired out on occasion, and it would be filled with beautifully handcrafted soft furnishings.  Friends and family would be able to drop in as and when they were passing, and we could even have a little outhouse in the garden which could serve as a self-contained annex for those needing to stay longer.

So, as I move the cat for the umpteenth time, bumble into the bathroom (trying not to knock over the bath panel propped up on the landing) to have a quick wash, and try to work out what the hell we're having for dinner, I'll just dream that dream...

Perhaps one day, that long-lost (so long-lost that I don't know about them) eccentric relative will think of me and put a few pennies this way!

*The flood is a whole other can of worms and you'll have to wait for the next installment for that.  The insurance assessor has now turned up and is playing with his bluetooth electronic tape measure.  Any minute now the baby will wake up and start yelling, the cat with throw up and normality will be resumed with a vengeance.