When we moved into our house many years ago it was a ‘do-er upper’ and although living with the building work for months was hard going, the truly hellish bit for me was the rigmarole of choosing the kitchen and home furnishings and paint colours.If we could’ve afforded an interior designer to just choose it all I’d have been delighted.
I felt sorry for my DH, as he’d be saying ‘cornflower blue or duck egg blue?’ ‘Oak worktop or granite?’ and by the end I was like a petulant teenager…I just don’t fucking care!!!
I don’t care about ornaments, paintings, photos on the wallls, plants. Couldn’t give a monkeys.
We haven’t redecorated significantly since moving in and our house is a bit shabby. No fucks to give.
We go on great holidays, go out to concerts and plays a lot, I love clothes (I’m not a major label/designer handbag type of gal, but I collect designer sunglasses and expensive trainers).
As long as I have a clean, functional space with WiFi, books, tv and my bed, I’m good!