Who me?
Sitting in a lovely house that could have been something out of a story book had it not been as uncouth and graceless; studded with the ghastliest interiors and most horrendously coloured paint job.
How is lime green colour on the walls upon which are glued variety of gauche decals pleasing to the eyes?
cruise liner sized couch upholstered with golden shimmery fabric that is unkempt, hoarding an array of groceries?
Onyx flooring, thick Victorian curtains sweeping the floors behind which are newspapers piled upon a table as are rumpled bed sheets, chew toys, charging wires and other knick knacks that at an immediate glance are easily understood to belong on the mantelpiece upon which are medicine bottles and more newspapers.
This is not my scene.
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