Nan read me and my sister an old story last night, it was about a rude gnome. Wandering her house with slightly cold toes I find all sorts of interesting things; a drawer full of floaty scarves, a box made entirely of sea shells, a heavy cigarette holder that still smells of ancient tobacco. The carpet has no underlay and the walls emit a golden brown light, probably caused by years of my Granddad's Silk Cut cigarettes, but it's a friendly glow, warming. Every time I walk down the stairs I tap the butterfly wind chime and she whoops. It's the little things in life that count. I'm taking endless pictures, when I get home you'll see them and this will all make more sense, I promise. Christmas is coming! X.
"We built a ship upon the stairs All made of the back bedroom chairs, And filled it full of sofa pillows To go sailing on the billows" R.L.Stevenson.
