Disappointment and design

As my dad is given to saying; if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. The process of selling my house appeared, for a moment there, to be going remarkable smoothly. However, we found out this week that the buyers have decided to pull out because the brickwork was such that they wouldn't be able to build on the extension they wanted. This isn't such a blow for me, as I hadn't actually found somewhere to move to, but it must be annoying beyond all sense for my brother and his girlfriend, who have an offer accepted on a place they really like, which may now fall through in consequence. Given that the buyer was the woman who irked me by being late that time, I suppose I ought not really to be surprised that she has proved unreliable, but I allowed myself to hope that the process might actually be straightforward. Foolish girl. The house selling/buying process is absurdly complex at the best of times, and the involvement of myself, the queen of un-looked for and improbable inconvenience (see evacuated graduation ceremonies and getting punched by strangers on public transport), just makes it even less likely that a hitch-free transaction will occur.

Despite not yet having a new home, I've been mentally decorating my as yet unidentified future residence for some time now. Unfortunately, I seem to be suffering from some sort of Seasonal Affective Decorative Disorder. While it was still winter and the sky was grim and steely, I wanted to paint my living room concrete grey. It seemed dramatic and different, and would match my cat. Now that the sun has come out, though, I'm favouring a nice buttery yellow with old-gold velvet curtains (Gold velvet curtains? Never mind the SADD, I should be more concerned about the fact that I appear to have travelled back in time to the 1970's!). Into this I would insert my nice brown leather sofas and my growing collection of fur (It's just occurred to me to wonder if the poor defenceless vegetarian who's planning on living with me is aware of my penchant for strewing the house with bits of flayed animal. Or of the fact that I name each one, which may make it better or even more creepy, depending on your view point. Of course this is probably a moot point given that she may well be comfortably ensconced in a retirement home by the time I actually manage to move.). I've also decided to put up a trellis against one wall so I can staple fake ivy and climbing flowers all over it, and strew it with surprising features for the curious viewer to happen across. Like a bird nest. And caterpillars. And an ocelot. Well, maybe an ocelot would be a little hard to acquire, but I would definitely get one if I knew of an ocelot supplier. I would call him Gerald.