Hello you. Let me take you by the hand for the moment, for you see I am about to guide you through my world. You may want to put on this waterproof rain mac and slip on these boots; it can get a little bit sticky at some points. And whatever you do, please don’t look down to see what you’re stepping in, not unless you want to eat in the next few days.
There, now don’t you look spiffy? Now, are you ready? Let’s go........
When I think about home there are a whole swirl of emotions and images that flow through my mind that are linked to that particular connotation. Home to me represents warmth, lamp light, the smell of cooking, chaos, the sound of life when you open the front door, black night pressing against cold windows while you curl up in front of the TV, and most of all, the feeling of security, of actually belonging somewhere.
And yet, in reality, you only get this feeling at two stages in your life, firstly when you’re a child, and secondly when you have you own family. For nearly everyone, there is this huge section of your life where technically you don’t actually have a home; you just have a base of operations. Normally this section of your life is based around the periods of when you leave home for the first time, right up until the point where you meet someone and decide to set up your own home together. Then your base of operations gets upgraded from base camp to starter home. When you get married it then upgrades further to a home in progress. Finally, when you have your own children, it morphs into an actual home and you then suddenly realise that you have taken the place of your own parents. Then your own mortality hits you round the face, screaming “My god, we’re old!”, and you then start growing your hair into ridiculous styles and start thinking about wearing leather trousers, all in the hope of regaining the youth that has snuck out the back door without you even realising it.
But anyway, I digress.
I like home. I like the whole idea around home. It pleases me. Even writing about it pleases me. I’m smiling now in fact. But that whole chunk of your life where you are just at base camp level. Don’t really like that much. That sucks.
So what makes the transition from a building just being a collection of rooms for you to just store your belongings in, to a place that is filled with memories and laughter and makes you feel like you are actually a part of something. Is it the amount of people living there? Would two people make a place feel more like a home rather than one? Does the relationship between these people make a difference? If you lived with a friend rather that someone you were in a relationship with, would that lessen the feeling of home? In all honestly, it’s all very confusing and is making me want to lie down and have a seriously long and hard think about it all.
I myself have been at base camp level for as long as I would like to remember. I guess you could call me an institutionalised man now. You stick me in an actual home and I start freaking and start wondering who all these people are and how the hell did they get in my living room? And yet I like the trappings that a home provides. I like the warmth. I like the sensation of being a part of something and try to replicate it at my own place. Kates totally understands me and my need for things to be “cosy.” I like the winter and the heating being on, I like there being lots of things going on around me, I like cooking meals in my kitchen. I think I like all of these things because maybe, and I could be totally wrong here, I’m trying to replicate my own home life from when I was a child.
And yet, me being the total contradiction of a human being that I am, I also like living on my own as well. But that is growing less and less now as I am getting older, and I think that pretty soon the urge for me to start me own home will become unavoidable, which in turn makes me wonder if it’s the same for most people. Is there a point in your life when you stop living in a base camp and actually have the need to build something of your own?
Now this is where this blog gets interesting (no, seriously, it does!) I’m going to take you on a journey around me own base camp (or man cave as Kates called it-which I love). This section may contain flashing lights and scenes that may disturb some readers.
I live in a place called Romford. I’ve lived in Essex all my life, just on the outskirts of Romford to be precise, but sold my house last year and bought a little flat near Romford town centre.
Now how to describe Romford? To be honest, words can’t really do it justice. Romford isn’t really a place; it’s more like a state of mind. If that mind in question was suffering from some quite server mental deficiencies. It’s filled with strange looking people that scurry around like parasites, cramming junk food into their gaping red mouths whilst trying to have sex with each other. This is exactly what its like. Totally. All the time.
Okay, I may be exaggerating slightly here. It’s not that bad, that’s just the roaring snob in me speaking. As much as I hate to admit it, and try to hide it, I come from these parts. These are all my people
*Spreads arms, Christ like*
Yeah, that’s a bit grim.
Anyway, my man cave is based here, a nice little block of flats.
I moved here about a year ago and it’s only now that it is starting to feel like something to me. I wouldn’t say home, but whatever it is, it feels like mine.
Wanna have a look inside?
Course you do, nosey.
This is my living room
This room is good for many things. Watching films. Chilling. Monging.Notice the film geek posters? Yeah, I rock.
Here is the kitchen.
Now most days you will either find me trying to do one of two things in here.
1) Cooking a fancy meal from one of my many cook books
2) Making beans on toast
Now ladies, please try to contain yourselves. This......is where the magic happens.
Yes, this is the room I like to practice card tricks in. I was going for a slightly gothic ambience, as quite frankly, I could think of nothing better to wake up to at half six on a Monday morning than all that blackness.
It’s the only way I can feel.
I was going to stick up my study (ohhhhh, get me!) and bathroom, but then thought, do you really want to see that?So I didn't. Its a bathroom. Use your imagination.
So that’s my man cave. I wouldn’t go as far as to call it a home as such, for me it’s just purely my base of operations. I feel no warmth there (mainly because the heating is fucking terrible) and certainly no real connection to the place. It’s just a few rooms for me to sleep and store my things.Thats all it is to me.
And if I’m entirely honest with you.
I really miss having a home.