This might be from a few years ago but it’s one of those evergreen posts: as true today as it was a couple of years back.
I’m constantly changing things around in the bedroom. That’s probably given you the wrong impression but, don’t worry, this is a post about soft furnishings. not hanky-panky! When I refurbished the apartment, I never really finished off the bedroom. I was hoping to create a restful space, splitting it into two separate areas one for sleeping and one for reading, with a small library. A gal can never have too many book shelves.
I had visions of a chase longue positioned so I could enjoy our magnificent view next to floor to ceiling book shelves along the one wall. Sadly, my husband’s two large wardrobes, which are in addition to his walk-in dressing room and built-in cupboard, are preventing me putting my master plan in place.
Consequently, I keep changing around the soft furnishings, bed linen, bed cover and cushions without achieving the harmony I desire. When my laundry became the bike room, I had to find somewhere else for the ironing board. Initially that was the underused guest bedroom but, as that has become a second storeroom pending the long-awaited reorganisation of our storage caves, it got moved into our bedroom.
Lest you think I’m a fiend with the iron, I should fess up that I try to iron as little as possible. Thanks to my brilliant washing machine and dryer, most items can be neatly folded and put away. About the only things I iron are my beloved’s shirts. However, I keep the ironing board out and ready for action as he has an unfortunate habit of demanding I press his suit/jacket just before he’s due to leave on a business trip.
Let him do it himself I hear you call out. Trouble is, as far as I’m aware, he’s never ironed anything other than the wax on our cross-country skis. Consequently, I’m mindful that letting him loose with a hot implement could prove costly. Of course, he knows this and plays on my fears. Plus, my always immaculately turned out father trained me how to iron shirts and press garments. Sadly, I never got him to train my beloved.
My dilemma is how to work around the omnipresent wardrobes. We had the most massive clear out of my beloved’s extensive collection of clothing ahead of last year’s trip to Australia. He’s a bit of a hoarder. The local charity shop and the recycling bins greatly benefitted. However, that still wasn’t enough to get rid of even one of the wardrobes. It appears I’m stuck with them so will have to think again.
So far, Plan B involves inserting a bookcase between said wardrobes and getting a pouf to match the existing armchair on which to rest my feet while reading. Meanwhile, I’m thinking of all the nooks, particularly above doors, that could be press-ganged into becoming places to store books.
Consequently, I’m adding a library to my ideal house. That’s the one with the massive basement and outside wood-fired oven that I suspect will forever remain a figment of my imagination. Largely, I should add, because it’s well-nigh impossible to replicate our view which trumps the afore-mentioned library, basement and wood- fired oven. Ah well, a girl can dream can’t she?