I’ve always had a bit of a thing for chairs… They’re quite special objects. Designed around the human body, to cradle and support you in a comfortable position, they seem to me the closest that an item of furniture could get to clothing. I imagine armchairs to be envious of coats but possibly a little smug that they don’t ever have to venture out into the wind and the rain.
I am rather excited about the recent purchase of a much larger boaty home for myself, my chap, and the cat. The new boat is 70ft of narrow iron riveted hull, possibly over 120 years old, with varying degrees of home comfort in different sections of the interior. She needs rather too much work but we like a challenge so we hope to steadily tweek and meld her into something that we can move onto without the increased stress levels of the previous floating home purchase. Clearly stress causes cancer so it’s best to avoid too much of it!
And I intend to eliminate more stress from my life by carefully placing at least three inherited armchairs in the living area of this new home. One of these chairs is an almost ercol style armchair in dusty greygreen mosslike tweed. And the other two are golden wingbacked spaces to curl up in that my parents large dogs are going to miss terribly (where will they lie in wait for intruders now I wonder…?).
Beside each seat I will place a small chest of drawers to hide such things as magazines, knitting, bank statements, old shoes and hops, and on top of which can be set mugs of warming liquids like tea, coffee, and whisky. I imagine the space beneath the chairs will house baskets of crochet, battered sketchbooks, and half read newspapers. Possibly a lost kindle will lodge itself behind the cushions with a few loose coins or one of the toothpicks the cat likes to chase.
I am really looking forward to winter evenings cupped and cushioned with slippers on my feet, a beverage well within reach, and my fingertips busily working the latest knitting project in gorgeous soft wool…