Out of my comfort zone

Every man needs their own space.

Somewhere they feel at ease, safe and relaxed. Mine is in the box room next to the toilet. That probably explains a lot...

Ever since I first moved out of my parents’ house I’ve had my ‘man cave’ – a place to escape from the troubles of the world, and sit in splendid isolation. Or listen to music very loudly. Or write. Or anything else that doesn’t involve other human beings.

In my first house, it was an entire double bedroom. It has subsequently shrunk with every move, until now my ‘office’ is the box room created when indoor toilets were invented, and a moderate bedroom became a tiny bathroom and even smaller room that really shouldn’t be allowed to have the word ‘bed’ at the front, for fear of breaching the trades description act.

The use of plasterboard so thin to create the dividing wall it’s a surprise light doesn’t pass through it, means the sound effects can be pretty alarming, but it is my inner sanctum, my fortress of solitude, and not even the peeling wallpaper, inadequate radiator, or damp problems detracted from its innate ability to be my own, wonderful, little corner of the universe.

But now, after much protesting, I have been evicted. This soul-destroying upheaval is temporary, as much needed decoration takes place, but the very essence of the room has been removed. The worn, budget, blue carpet has gone, revealing the newspaper underlay utilised by the previous owners of our house a decade ago.

With the old wallpaper removed, it turned out they had also written their name and the date on the wall too. Tempting though it was, I have refrained from writing “please do it properly next time” underneath, for fear that future historians finding the text many centuries from now judge me harshly.

The bare floorboards show every year of their century of stopping people falling into the kitchen below, and decades of retro-fitted cabling, central heating and general BIY (Bodge It Yourself) have left them sawn up, paint-splattered and, in some cases, not even attached.

Evidence exists behind the radiator that the 1970s incarnation of decor featured a lurid, dark green patterned wallpaper, and at some point ceiling tiles must have clung, forlornly, to the ceiling.

Soon, a new rug will disguise the passage of time at floor level, whilst a bespoke paper and paint job freshens the walls and ceiling. A made-to-measure blind will crown the window, and my alarmingly large CD collection will nestle happily with a new rack for company.

Yes, it will be wonderful (and I’ll be able to move out of my temporary enclave in the guest bedroom), but... still...

Like saying goodbye to a favourite pair of trainers, or that carefully-moulded double-dip on your side of the sofa, created by years of effort, it will be strange having to start over again at making it uniquely mine.

I’ll let you know how I’m getting on in a couple of decades.

This post first appeared in the North West Evening Mail on the 7th of February 2014, as my "Thank Grumpy it's Friday" column - you can view the version used by the paper on their website here

They added "Pushed" to the front of the title, and made some very minor, one-word, trims this week. Unusually, the column was promoted via their twitter and facebook feeds, which (on checking back through the dark past of twitter) has only happened a couple of times before.

The original redecoration plan would have seen the office finished over the Christmas holidays, but ManFlu, Mrs G contracting a very light case of sniffles, and a severe bout of laziness means it's currently at the stage where everything is removed and sanded, and the putting stuff back on surfaces bit is about to commence... once I've nailed some of the floorboards down. We do have a deadline though, as we'll be having visitors in April and as the guest bed is currently piled high with my stuff, and inaccessible due to CDs, it may be wise to crack on. Might manage it in time...

(Listening to the rather splendid "Concert for George" CD this afternoon. I was lucky enough to be present at the concert in the Albert Hall back in... 2002? Or was it '03? The sound is a lot better on this recording than it was on the night. Hardly surprising, when there were about 50 people on stage at the same time...)