Monday, 29 August 2011


Dear House,

I am so sorry, and my confined heart is filled with concern for our parting, but it is that heavy hour. I must steady my hand, pick up my bag, collect my children, and pass your front door key into the tender care of Mr W.

You know, of course, that today I must run to embrace another.

In my eyes, they can never be as beautiful as you. Truly they do not possess as many elegant, ancient charms as you! Their light is not delicate, their floors not wooden, their walls not crumbling, and their office roof not caved in on one side.

Yet I must leave you. I must keep children with a father, stash some cash in the bank, and follow that urge I have: the pointless one where I put myself in difficult and uncomfortable situations just because.

So I must cut myself away, and look now only to the assets of your Asian competitor. I must ignore how they are basically a soulless tile and concrete block on a Hong Kong hillside, and gaze instead on their lustrous charms. How they offer great views from a delightful flat roof, a selection of beaches close by, an endless sub-tropical summer, and a view of banana trees from the kitchen window.

My dear house, I know this will be no comfort to you. I feel sure you will be anguished by my betrayal, as you live with my abandonment of you for another six months. But please do not be angry with me.

And do not fear Mr W. He will look after you. Probably better than me. He will not mess you up like I do. He will not kick the back door in like Squirrel, nor slam your kitchen door hard like Tiger in a temper tantrum. He will step gentler on your stairs too, softer than Shark when she is trying to be discreet. Although yes, he might move in some heavy machinery to your kitchen, just for temporary storage while he builds his new shed.

Now, I must depart. Please do not let the tap explode in your anguish, frustration and grief, like you did that morning when I set off to Hampton Court. I did tell you I was only going to look.

PS. I have thrown out the posy of flowers from your hall, collected by the children from the garden.

Forgive them. They will do the same in their new abode. They are children, and fickle, and live casually, as children do.

1 comment:

Nora said...

Cheer up, it's only for six months...