I have a lot of plans for this mansion I’ve just inherited.
To begin with, I will ensure the outside is secure. It will be very bricky, and the windows will have cream coloured shutters to contrast with the darkness of the bricks. So will the front door.
I’m going to have a lot of modern amenities. In the kitchen will be a house-cook’s dream, since money is no object. All the shiny gadgets I could want, because I like kitchens and using them. All the better to fill the house with the scent of good home-baked cookies or a lasagne. This one time I made chocolate-chip cookies, and I timed it so they’d be just about ready right when Mum got home. Imagine stepping foot to that scent.
Next is the rest of the interior. I imagine buying a lot of furniture all coordinated, preferably in dark woods. Mahogany, maybe. One room will be the study/office, where I do boring stuff like household maintenance and other work. It’s the kind of room you’d go to edit your novel.
There will be a lounge-work room. By this I mean there’s not much furniture. There’s a divan, and a small table on which you can put a drink or food. This is the room you go to, when you want to lounge around and write lazily. You know the kind of writing, where you’ve got a vague idea of what you want to do, and so you write slowly and savour it instead of crazy I-have-this-idea-now writing? That.
Hm, dining room. It could double as a conference room, so it’s got to have a big table and lots of chairs.
Bedrooms – fairly basic. Bed, something which is apparently called an armoire, and then you can personalize the rest however you like.
Library. Save the best for last. It has a big fireplace (so does the lounge) and books spill all over the place. One time I went into a bookstore that wasn’t a bookstore as I knew it. There were no clean lines and neat rows of books, no sir. You see, it was actually an old house. And it was gutted, and then every room was books. The front sitting-room bit was where you paid, and there were two staircases, and books everywhere. Boxes of books lined the staircases, making them precarious to climb or descend. Books lined the walls and hallways, and then there were tables and crates and stuff in the middle of the room, piled high with books. It was as if someone had said, “Right, how many books can we get in here?” and then piled in more.
That’s my dream
There’s electricity and water, but you can’t get internet, and you can only use a landline because it’s quite remote and so there’s no real cell reception. All the flooring is hardwood, and the curtains are floor-length, floaty in the wind but still opaque.
It’s a dark and stormy night, so I’ll end here before my computer crashes out.