A peek inside

I am endlessly nosy and never tire of seeing photographs of bloggers' houses.  It's always fascinating to see how writers I have a lot in common with may differ from me when it comes to interior decoration, but I don't often post photographs of my own place.  So when Louise posted her living room tour on Monday, I knew straight away that I fancied doing something similar.

I am lucky enough to live in what is pretty much my dream house.  Five years ago, if you'd asked me to write a description of the home I wanted, I would have described a Victorian terrace with a front yard (rather than fronting straight onto the street), a step up to the front door (weird I know, but I always wanted one!), stripped wooden floorboards, open fires, original features like cast iron fireplaces and ceiling roses.  I got all of those things, and more, although the further you get into my house, the more it deviates from my 'dream house' template.  My kitchen and bathroom are still in the same, erm, slightly 'grubby' state as when I bought the place four years ago, but I've never had the money to do anything (or, more accurately, whenever I've had the money I've gone travelling instead!).

I actually have two living rooms; preferring to not lose one of the two downstairs rooms to a rarely-used dining room, I use the front room as a reading and music room, and the back room as a cosier TV room.  This is my front room, which is a sunny, bright space in summer and a somewhat chillier proposition in winter.

When I walked into this room on my first viewing, my eye was immediately drawn to the imposing tiled fireplace and lovely stripped floorboards.  So much so, that I managed to overlook the fact that the walls were bright yellow.  My first job on taking posession of the keys was to get a gang of friends together and slap on layers and layers of white emulsion.  I love having a white background against which to display my favourite things, like this fabulous starburst mirror (a fiver in the Matalan sale!  Bargain).

 

My unread book pile (non-fiction only - novels are a whole other shelf upstairs), plus my lovely vintage rotary dial phone, which actually works but is never plugged in because I don't have a landline.

 

Terrible, blurry photograph of my beloved wall of books.  My absolute number one essential for a house is: is there space for an entire wall of shelves?  The books in this room are organised according to an arcane system only discernible to myself.  The shelves are also home to the objet d'art (otherwise known as random crap) that I collect: Buddha statues, soapstone African carvings, a set of Russian dolls, a giant pinecone. 

Vintage film posters, bought from a street market in Manhattan, adorn the walls.

 

I don't actually like purple all that much, but it just seems to work well in this room.  The Victorian features called for fairly traditional furnishings, although the cross-stitch cushion on the chair says "Bollocks", because I find swearing amusing.  So mature.

 

 

Never has a truer word been spoken.  This hangs next to my front door, so I see it and smile every morning as I leave for work.