First World Dilemma

I've always loved that raised stud rubber flooring.  Maybe it was in my 70's kindergarten so there's some deep subconscious longing for life-before-it-got-complicated-attachment going on, but for whatever reason I've often hankered to have it somewhere in my home.  The garage/studio is taking shape and it is time to start doing some fun stuff, like choosing fittings etc.  I spent yesterday selecting a lavatory, which was perversely enjoyable.  I had to fight the urge to sit on them in the showroom, because let's face it, you need to know what it feels like to perch on.   I wonder if people actually do that?  I really wanted to.

The floor in the studio is now looking for some covers, and I believe the opportunity for stud rubber flooring may be upon me.   Unfortunately, and contrary to my naive assumption otherwise, it is not cheap.   But looking at other options such as vinyl and pretend wood (blagh), there's really no contest.    In case  you don't know what I'm talking about,  here is an example.

So I've found a supplier, had the measure up and now waiting for the quote, gulp.  But in the meantime there's another job to do that is choose the colour.  Now this is where life really does get complicated.  Here is the colour palate:

Limestone Green and Cool Blue are nice  but look like a dental surgery.  Steel is a tyre showroom.  Red is a children's hospital ward.   I thought I'd pretty much honed in on Deep Blue (third from the bottom, left) but fortunately the rep had left me a sample which we've been road testing today in the kitchen.  The dog has been kindly helping.  And let me tell you I don't like what I see.  Shows every greasy smear and crumb.   Would you want to be cleaning that?

So I'm now thinking the light grey ('Mercury' to those on first name terms) might be the go. But is it too airport terminal?   

The one I would really like, truth be told, is orange.  However on this 39 degree day I'm not (pardon the anti-pun) warming to an orange floor. 

Such dilemmas.  Then I feel guilty about thinking that it matters so much, when we have a solid floor and watertight roof in which to dwell.  Maybe some time in a shanty would fix that, or at least a thought to what life would be like to live in one, to appreciate how lucky we are.  

The land that tidying up forgot

Every time I visit MIL's house I go through the same experiencial process.  The first day I fall in love all over again with this home's unpretentious shabby comfort.  This is a country home dating back to 1300 (in the cellar anyway) which is the epicentre of a large extended family and busy working property.
  

This place is busting with aretefacts and detritus gathered from a life lived in full.  Nothing here is arranged or designed to look like anything in particular, it has just evolved.  Which must surely be the secret to a truly interesting and rich interior.

 

But by day three, something starts to shift.  And then all of the sudden I feel overwhelmed with a compulsion to get a large proverbial broom and give it all a good a good clear out.   I'm itching to get stuck in and apply a thorough flossing.  For this is a house where 'putting things away', the household chore that seems to dominate my daily duties, just does not happen.   Being here is a like living in the home of the alter ego me that would really rather put my feet up with a book rather scuttle around picking up everybody's elses crap until 11pm every night.  Why bother?  Just go to bed!  If only I could.  Sadly the need to get up and give those surfaces a good clear and scrub would probably keep me awake at night.