Mirrors

stoke-newington

Walking along Scandi wooden floors in my new living room, I see my reflection smoulder like an Instagram picture. Techno base lines reverberate from the upstairs landing and blonde ambition pours down from the skylight. Stoke Newington is my fourth home in less than six months.

With its Georgian ceilings and sash windows chilling my winter bones, I wake up in an Lennon-esque bedroom. My possessions fill up the white-cube shelving and black wires dangle unceremoniously from the wall. The bed looks better than it feels, but its only six weeks and you can’t win them all.

Sitting in the living room opposite a plasma television, I wonder how I would do it differently. How would I decorate a blank canvas? I wouldn’t know where to start. I still can’t even work out how to use the smart television. I’ve never had to use one until now. Isn’t it funny how you measure your life by your inability to keep up with a technology you no longer use.

 

 

 

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