7 I like this room
Written while waiting to see Why I stuck a flare up my arse for England at Holden Street Theatre.
It feels like the houses I grew up in. Large and spacious, but filled with old things. Things with stories. Pieces that have been places. They’ve all had lives before they were here. When I see old furniture like this, I always think of who else might have sat on them.
What secret whispers have they listened to?
Most of these chairs look like they were made by people, not machines. They look like someone's hand guided the wood in place and stretched the leather. That makes these feel like home. My house was filled with old things. Things that had stories.
This is the sort of space I’d like in my house or perhaps at a bar: just a little spot for nightcaps, a place for writers to sit and talk, or a meeting space for good folk.
That’s a dream.
Finding enough like minded people for that to work.
A dream.
