The kitchen is my favourite place in my flat. This is not because it is ‘the heart of my home’. I don’t have a kitchen that would feature as a quadruple spread in Homes and Ideas, complete with a marbled island, bar stools, Le Creuset kitchenware and four ovens… double doors that lead out to a garden with wild rabbits munching on organic carrots.
Oh no, in reality my kitchen is pure 70s: brown and a teeny bit damp. The latter feature is the bane of my kitchen life. However, I am committed to that darn kitchen. I fill blue and clear vases with purple and red flowers, have a nice vintage VOGUE surf picture, in homage to Charlie missing the surf… and VOGUE obviously, a picture of a Jersey cow (Charlie heritage), and a massive photo of a yellow field in North Cornwall – all on the wall.
The kettle and the toaster are both polished regularly, while the hob is always shiny and the radio ultra gay. La la la is me. Then the evening time sees candles lit and the little prop up table seated at by myself/Charlie/friends/Francois.
There we sit away from the Mac, the TV and the lounge window that rattles when people walk down the main stairs from the flats above. The kitchen windows have no curtains, or blinds, or net curtains – do people still have those? There is simply blackness outside, save from the slight outline of the stone wall and my tin sign ‘Garden’, with an arrow pointing left, tattering against the stone. No, this was not a Kath Kidston attack, and actually is useful. I like to remind myself why we don’t have a bath, see: exterior entertaining space/ garden – and Kirsty and Phil explaining the term ‘compromise’.
As they, whoever they are, say; it’s nice to be away from the distractions of the modern day world we live in. And choose to join – I’m looking at you twitter/THE INTERNET as a whole… and myself. Now it would appear you can’t watch a programme on TV without seeing it annihilated on Twitter. If you choose to look. Which I do… sometimes. And TV’s not that great. I mean, is it?
So, really for me it’s all about getting out the flat or being in my kitchen’s favourite spot. Away from what’s not real, what you can’t touch, and yet annoyingly has the capacity to create emotions within you. Seriously, nothing can ever be as real as the joy that is sitting, talking with a friend, at a table, in the kitchen. Or with Charlie/the cat. It’s not like the sofa is totally redundant, but there is something simple about the kitchen. And productive, ranty, and heavenly.
In the stereotype/sweeping generalisations, section of my brain, I find people always go to the kitchen for arguments, kisses, break-ups, consolations and wine. Maybe it’s the harsh lighting often used that makes it all dramatic? However for me, the kitchen is the most tranquil of places. Not that action doesn’t happen there of course. When the super bright bulbs are on.
Before I delve any further into kitchens, it is without delay that I must now inform THE INTERNET of my departure from the whole of England and technology. It follows thus:
Dear stupid/amazing technology that I love/hate, I am off to Thailand for two weeks to see the sun again and be semi-feral on an island. I am not even going to think about what it’s like without you. You will be off my my train of thoughts entirely. Instead I will be thinking about life, mozzie attacks and quite possibly; why two weeks feels a lot longer when you’re not there. Buzzing. That’s correct, I am off to sit in a bit of mini bliss with a drink that has beads running down the side because it is so cold from a cooling cabinet, not the inside of my flat. I appreciate your work, and salute you. Adios.
From my column on Bristol 24-7.