Home sweet home

October 15, 2008

Hard times make houses into homes. I’m hoping we’ll see less of city banker style: perfectly good houses extended and interior designed to death and then sold on to make big fat profits. Bring on the recession. Houses are reverting from assets to homes: they have skips outside because owners are staying put instead of making a fast buck and moving on.

As money gets tighter we should automatically start asking ourselves “Do I need this, or do I just want it?” It’s thus for you to decide whether to invest in the new combined hardback edition of Pure Style Home & Garden. Ok, I’m on dodgy ground here, and certainly wouldn’t be so conceited as to think that it is a necessity, but if you don’t have the earlier Pure Style and Pure Style Outside titles, this has hundreds of thrifty and simple home ideas which help save money without forsaking looks and style. Let me know what you think.

Home work

photo/vanessa courtier

It’s important to hide the custard creams if you’re a easily distracted home worker like me. Go for some healthy oatcakes, which can be thrown together with out difficulty:

Add 270g medium oatmeal, one quarter teaspoon baking soda, and a pinch of salt to a bowl. Make a well and pour in 2 dessert spoonfuls of melted butter and 164 ml water. Mix to a stiff paste with a wooden spoon. Knead with the hands and roll out thinly as possible. Cut into circles or triangles and bake in the oven at 200C 400f for 20 to thirty minutes. Makes about 20.

Paris Hilton has paparazzi. So do I: the dog and the cat, who sit or lie with their eyes boring into my back willing me to their food bowls. The dog follows me upstairs, downstairs, to the washing machine, to the bin, back to my desk and so on. When I hit a dead end on the thoughts front I get out into the garden to plant or dig. (Psychologists say that continuous small achievement is the key to happiness). The dog and the cat come too. This morning I planted white wallflowers, hoping they will smell as scented as the mixed colours I usually choose. The dog hung around my spade hoping for a stone to be thrown. The cat watched, eerily balanced on the fence. The rose bushes are thinning with few blooms, like a frail and fragrant aunt. I wonder if enough heat can be squeezed out of the sun to ripen the rest of the tomatoes. I do know a good recipe for green tomato jam.