I can't think of anything much more self-indulgent than posting photos of my spinster pad, but this is a blog, afterall. Self-indulgent is its middle name. And so, budding interior decorologists and turquoisophiles, girls and boys, step this way. I present to you "Harlot Heights", forty-nine square metres of dubiously-financed manor house.
This, here, is all the Florence Broadhurst wallpaper I could afford; frame by Target; picture rail by John the Handyperson.
And this here is the wee tilt I'm not mentioning to the bank:
And here you can see that Harlot Heights is superbly equipped with all the essential features of modern indoor living: floor, walls, and ceiling.
To say nothing of a pink loo, all the better for the plonking upon of one's posterior while the rest of one leafs through back issues of Country Home and Tweed magazine.
Here is a fine figure of a hatstand, flourishing in close proximity to my very own front door knob.
Here is my bedroom, and a bicycle wheel. Note that this is a distinct and separate and different green from the turquoise in t'other room. Let noone say that I don't do variety.
And here are five plastic animals on the kitchen window sill. They offer, I like to think, an eloquent commentary on the current state of the quarter acre block.