decor on the king's road

Went to meet my French friend - Mademoiselle - for a salad and green tea* on the King's Road.

Mademoiselle is extremely good at interior decor. She can work a room divider and a tray of crystal decanters like Laura Ashley can work floral prints.

With our new house a distant pinprick on the horizon of mortgage timelines and solicitor surveys,  and with builders about to knock down walls and add stuff, I shouldn't be thinking about decor at all.

For one, I don't know what the end result of our house will look like. Well I sort of do, thanks to floor plans, but I don't really know know.

Secondly, will our mortgage even be approved?

Thirdly, it could be months - like months and months to a year -  until we even start looking at things like armchairs, French drawer sets and Nguni hides.

And stag busts, Bauhaus prints, floor lamps, crystal vase collections, and reupholstered Louis chairs.

Jesus. My mind is going mental with the possibilities. Mainly because the decor I have in mind is going to be fresh and new. It has to go with our house. We live in a new block now; but we're moving to a Victorian terrace. It's a whole nee world of possibility; loom and feel.

Our flat is currently decked out in modern, contemporary Swedish stuff. Which is great, but it can't be the entire look and feel inside a beautiful old place.

I consulted with Mademoiselle. Whose house, as I mentioned, is perfection. She has lots of different pieces from her travels, but manages to merge them in with her general style. Everything is a piece and it all looks so beautiful. She heads up a marketing department; but she should really be an interior designer. For famous people. With giant manor houses.

Anyway, so. "Let's walk down the King's Road," she says.
"You know, for ze inspiration."

I'd already bought a pair of black jeans from Zara, so I figured no more damage could be done.

Except the King's Road is the most perfect shopping road in the universe, shoeniverse, decorverse.
And this is not the first time we've walked down there for 'ze inspiration' together. And each time we come back with stuff, credit cards a-smokin.'

It's dangerous as actual fuck.

Anyway. I digress. She led me into a few incredible, extremely Chelsified decor shops. One's I haven't been to before because I didn't consider them my vibe. Maybe I've grown up or grown into new styles, but I loved some of the places she showed me.

India Jane on King's Road is beautiful. You just want to enshrine yourself in All. The. Stuff. It's just very tasteful and not completely fucked-up expensive.

The tricky part is to merge mine and the Brit's contemporary-style things with this, if possible. We have cool stuff. You know, like this sort of vibe.

She says it will be possible. And she will help. I will have a personal designer helping me put shit in the right places! And make it all nice.

And I can now enter a new phase of my life: mature taste.*

How will I possibly hold out until the time comes to decorate our builder's site?

* God we're boring. Been face stuffing like it's nobody's business, and she says she's been baguetting the entire summer. Hence the rabbit food.
** The Brit will never allow me to deck the halls with Laura Ashley or Biggie Best. Let's be practical. But that doesn't mean we can't CRYSTAL DECANTER THE HELL OUT OF THE LOUNGE!

new home

Well. About 45.6 seconds ago, I tumbled out of bed, phoned the agent and said, "THE LEASE FOR THAT APARTMENT IS MINE! Er, please can it be mine?"

The weekend has been spent tossing around a decision on two places. One is a reasonably sized garden cottage on a property in Parkhurst, close to the shops, and with garden and pool; the other is a swish parquet-floored apartment in Craighall with a large balcony that could happily seat 15 of my friends.

It came down to making a pro's and con's list. And budgeting, and considering things like domestic maintenance and security. If I'm living on my own, the place has to be secure. The Craighall kitchen has been renovated and is ultra-modern and all that, as well as the bathroom. It also has a spare study. And heaps of storage space.
And, although not within walking distance of shops (The Colony is close by...but the new me doesn't go there anymore), and Hyde Park is a block away. I've decided to take it, moving end of this month before I go to the UK.

I have a new home! Scary. Jesus. It's really happening.
But out of all these learning experiences over the last few months, and all that fucking character building mumbo jumbo and bullshit – or not bullshit – but bullshit right now – stuff....the most emotional part for me is moving.

I've been waking up before the birds tweet cold sweating The Big Move. I've been here for four years, it's going to be hard to leave. It's really been home. The reasons for moving are paramount though, and it has to be done: change, new start, the place I reside is now shabby, I can afford to move, I want to live by myself, etc etc etc.

But this place holds a lot of memories. I've been boxing and throwing out stuff for a week now – the stuff I don't want is going to charity, Pretty and Lucas – but it's a serious change out of all the changes that have happened to me. My flat has always been my one constant. My refuge where I sing karaoke and where Lucas, the security guard, takes it upon himself to indoctrinate all my men.

I haven't had the heart to tell Lucas I'm moving yet. It's going to be horrible. You have to realise that Lucas, who kind of works sometimes, sometimes not – has been in this building for over 30 years. He's like 70 years old. He found out I was from Natal when I first moved in, and never really forgot that. (He's from Eshowe and in his limited dialect – for I don't know what he says half the time – he's just animated about his family holidays.)

He doesn't only look after my friends cars, he has taken it upon himself to be my legal guardian. Which has its up and downsides, believe you me. Every guy that comes for a napover or is my boyfriend gets a hard time with Lucas. He's poked them: ([poke poke] “Who are you and why are you here?”), he's asked what their intentions are before, he's basically embarrassed me more times than I can remember.

But...his intentions are good. The only person he has really liked in recent times is 3RM. I suppose Third Roommate bribes him with beer and other sweet talk, but I suppose he also knows 3RM doesn't have dodgy intentions. Lucas has actually been a good judge of character from if I look back on things, but he's also been a liability.

If I traipse in drunk late on a Saturday night, Lucas wags his little finger at me. I swear to God. “Where have you been?” Or before I get to my car: “Where are you going and with who, a BOYFRIEND?” It's hectic.

Telling him I'm going is going to be awful.