The temptation to live off-grid somewhere in a tiny (but well-insulated) house is becoming well-nigh overwhelming. No, this is not a comment on current politics or fears; this is a worry-free, escapist zone.
When I’m not dreaming of chateaux or grandiose villas with libraries and terraces, I have a hankering for charming little cottages surrounded by flowers in bloom and verdant luxury. I’m not sure who’s supposed to do the gardening… although I can certainly admire the flowers and even dedicate a poem to them.
Who needs a big, draughty house with huge bills, when you could live in a gorgeous little space like this? (Mind you, I might need another one at the back just for the books to live in) Now if only I could convince the boys that they don’t need a lot of space either…
The cold may have descended over our part of France. But with all the beautiful autumnal colours to inspire you, what better place to spend your day than in your very own garden shed, far away from the hubble-bubble of life in the main house? (No, I don’t have one. Yes, I would like one. With heating, preferably.)
Chateaux and the like are all very well, but where do beleaguered artists go when they need to focus on their writing/art/belly button? As far away from the temptations of civilisation and the Internet as possible, of course.