day 16 – stu-stu-studio
Whilst we renovate the house, the husband and I are living with his brother and partner in Hyde Park and though I love them dearly and am so very grateful for a place to rest my head at night, it can all feel a bit claustrophobic at times. Though having been to India, I suppose I don’t really have the right to say that my living conditions are cramped. It’s not like my parents and five siblings and their babies and the neighbour’s cow are sleeping in my bedroom, which also serves as my kitchen and living room.
But let’s face it, Hyde Park is a bit… well… beige. And I feel like Branson in Downton Abbey — I’m the chauffeur in these mews and I’ll simply never be a Crawley. Or, for those of you who haven’t yet discovered the UK’s finest fromage on television, it feels a bit like when Julia Roberts goes shopping on Rodeo Drive– the first time, when she’s a bit skanky — but we all know that underneath the itty bitty outfit barely covering her nethers, there is a smart girl; a veritable Erin Brokovich in the making.
Also, when one works from home, things can get pretty insular. And I love being alone. I mean, I am the qa-ween of solitude, people. But even the queen of solitude has to get out once in a while. So, I done gone and rented a studio space for the month of November and it’s like a Phil Collins song but better, which isn’t much of a stretch in 2013 but trust me, in the 80’s, you would have been all over that shit.
It’s such a glorious studio and there’s a metric ton of light pouring into the place through massive multi-pane windows, and in a country where light is most definitely not their greatest commodity, this is a true blessing. And I’m surrounded by writers and photographers and it’s just fucking awesome.
And, best of all, it’s back in my old haunts. I feel so much more at home north of King’s Cross, where things are just a bit more sparkly. The north is where the colourful people live and the bicycles squeak a little louder and there are more second-hand shops than boutiques and the leaves stay on the ground a bit longer before the city rakes them up and it smells more of incense and less of expensive perfume. It’s where people put the funk in dysfunctional. It’s anonymous, it’s heterogeneous, it’s real.
And it’s damn good to be back, even if only temporarily.