Saturday, 4 April 2015

"A place ...

... for everything and everything in its place."  One of my father's favourite aphorisms.

I've been watching with horrified fascination an American series of programmes on TV - "Tiny House Nation" - where entire families plus large dog move into a space no bigger than an average cricket pavilion and inwardly I weep.  ONE very small bathroom. FOR ALL OF THEM! Bedrooms separated by no more than a sliding cupboard!

And where does all their stuff go?  The old letters and photos.  The "just might be useful one day" bits of technology. The furniture and lighting just waiting for a make-over. The books inherited from parents still to be read. The exotically coloured reference tomes, hardly opened: Life on Earth, Wild Flowers of the World, British and European Birds.  Well of course, these families get rid of it all. But how could they? And in a few months/years time will they bitterly regret it?

We, on the other hand, have a loft which on its own is bigger than the entire cubic space these families are moving into.  We have a garage (ditto). We have a wood store.  We have a what-the-French-call-hanger. We have a one-day-to-be-front-hall (currently dumping ground).  We have a utility room.  Which means that when I want something like a spare dog lead it could be anywhere in one of six places. Well maybe not the wood store; although you'd be amazed what does creep out there.  I think we have a poltergeist with a malicious sense of humour who shifts stuff around when we're not looking.

In theory we have more than sufficient places for everything. But that's the problem.  How to decide and then remember which place is for what?  And, did the "what" get back to its place after the last time it was used?  I blame the poltergeist.

So maybe there's something to this Tiny House Nation thing after all. Although I do think we'd need a tiny house each plus another for the dogs. (I couldn't be coping with that one bathroom nonsense.)

Tiny House Nation