Michael and Geoffrey came to visit last weekend, and suddenly the house
is transformed. Furniture has been scaled back, pictures have
been hung, rugs re-arranged, and suddenly the house doesn't seem so
little after all.
Mr. S regards an open space as an opportunity. Every surface
should hold a photograph, or a collection of cigarette cards, or a
book, or what he describes as objet d'art, but which is mostly
tat. He is a bower bird of maniacal proportions. I'm his
first wife, but I must be the only thing he has ever had one of.
"You never know when that might come in useful" he cries, as he
retrieves some item of rubbish I had been trying to dispose of
surreptiously.
The boys (and although they are our age, they'll always be "the boys"
to us) regard space as something to be celebrated - clean, uncluttered
lines, plenty of white space, something to be encouraged in
abundance. Michael and Geoffrey live on a boat, which means that,
for them, space is always at a premium, and neatness is an
obsession. They are both extremely fastidious and very stylish,
and I suspect they despair of our decorating style (which is best
described as voluptuous). Of course, they are much too kind to
say anything of the sort, but when we steel ourselves and invite them
to comment, we get lots of "Have you thought about", or "What if you
moved that" and "Do you think that might look better somewhere else".
There's a one-act play in an arched eyebrow from Geoffrey. But
they're always right, dammit.
Even better, Mr. S agrees they're right. Now, instead of thinking
of my harpsichord as a receptacle that can hold four photographs, and a
table-lamp, he has agreed that it can be consigned to its box in the
garage until I finally retire. As a result, the room, which
looked like it was gasping for air, suddenly exhales, and seems a lot
more relaxed.
We are all united in our love for a table-lamp that looks like a bunch
of grapes - it's a wonderful piece of girlish whimsy - so it gets moved
against a white wall where it can really show off.
Small dark pieces of furniture have bought a one-way ticket to the
auction house. All this extra space means that we can fit in two
visitor's chairs, so no longer do we have to take it in turns to sit
down.
The boys preen. The room looks 200% better, and we all know
it. In the euphoria of the moment, Mr S swears that he will not
clutter it up, ever again. Hollow laughter from the rest of
us. My challenge is going to be making sure those unwanted bits
do go to the auction house. I suspect that odds and ends will
start creeping back in while I'm away in town. The price for
uncluttered space will be eternal vigilance.
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Change of Life 
