Stupid House Fantasies

When I think of the perfect place to live if money were no object, it’s not a palace or a mansion. It’s not even in Paris, or France. It’s a simple little white wood framed house. Small. Windows open with a breeze blowing wispy cafe curtains.

When I try to imagine the most perfect scenario to write, that’s a different thing. I imagine a stone house with a blue slate roof. Three months, just me and the kids, the whole summer in the country. Amazingly, this imaginary place is in Wales. Strange because I don’t particularly like the UK. But this place, outside, there is a trickle of spring water from the ground and it joins up with two other little bubbling springs which form a little stream that leads downhill to a pond. Almost every single day for about 10 years now I see myself there taking a break from my writing, wearing rubber boots at the grassy edge of the pond. Standing in the mud. My novel manuscript is in the cottage. Funny because I write screenplays now. But that’s the fantasy.

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4 thoughts on “Stupid House Fantasies

  1. That’s funny, that your dream cottage is in a place you aren’t fond of.

    I’d love three months in a cottage in the UK, but I love it there. I have trouble deciding between somewhere on the coast of Devon or Cornwall, or maybe somewhere in the Lake District.

    However, my new dream is to move to Estes Park, Colorado.

  2. I shouldn’t say I don’t like the UK, because I really do actually. Love the people, love the topography. It’s paying double for everything lately and then believe it or not, that it is too easy to communicate with them. No language barrier to play around with. Culture too similar to ours.
    Right now, they are down on America. Like they’re not in this Iraq mess with us…geesh.

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