In a convoluted way, this whole entry, about the possible folly of falling in love with bricks and mortar, has been hijacked by Jocasta Innes… and Daisy Goodwin.
Having committed myself (pioneering or foolhardy, only time will tell) to the restoration of a truly inspirational Victorian abode, I turned (in time-honoured fashion) to my trusty tome, “The Thrifty Decorator”. This interior design treasure has seen me through decades of poverty and riches; from shoeboxes via log cabins, through modest (and less so) terraces to a veritable pile. However, on this occasion, reading my cherished, well-thumbed blueprint was not enough! Panic – or something more pixie-ish – led me to a search for the great Jocasta Innes herself.
The mantra “Google is your friend” having yielded the information that Ms Innes’ website subscription lapsed on 27.12.2010, I turned detective. (I needed now to locate her just for life, in its familiar form, to continue!) That was how I stumbled upon Daisy Goodwin’s article about the ravages of divorce.
It’s an excellent read – don’t just take my word for it – and doubtless, the toe-curling display of genuine angst resonates with all those who have ever suffered parental separation and deprivation (mine was via boarding school), but it simply won’t do. Why does anyone, in search of really good restoration advice, need access to more than one facet of an icon’s personality? One accepts that genius is a double-edged sword; one accepts it, but deliberately ignores it. (You have heard of Michael Jackson, Agatha Christie, Beethoven, Emmeline Pankhurst, Disraeli, Van Gogh – to name a few at random.) The disclosure of genii, as three dimensional, should be avoided at all costs. We don’t want them to be mere people – we certainly don’t need them to be so. Too much frail humanity is one concern; to be exposed by ones child or children may be the ultimate betrayal/act of revenge.
So, deeply disillusioned, I returned to my less shiny, less glossy fount of superior, sensible decorative advice and re-read the amusing references to children with less hope, less humour and much more cynicism. What an avoidable shame.
Still, Jocasta if you’re out there… I need your expertise!
