Wall, That’s a Change
Six years since I lived in a place where I wallpapered my room with photos of my friends and adventures. Actually, back then there weren’t even that many adventures.
I used to have them everywhere. The floor would also have a pile of photos that had fallen off the walls in the heat; I would have posters in various states of (dis)repair. Newspaper clippings, headlines, album covers and flags and those free postcards that you can pickup from cool record stores or bookshops.
I can’t think why I stopped? Perhaps I moved house and I was scared of ripping the paint in the new place, or I felt that the environment didn’t warrant it.
When living with my ex-girlfiend, if it didn’t have a frame, then it didn’t go on the wall. That was the rule. I don’t know whose rule, but I knew it existed. That’s not even to go into the question of “why would you want to put up photos of people [read girls] I’ve never met?” [cross arms, furrow eyebrows, raise voice].
Ten minutes last night. A wad of blu-tac. A consistent pattern. BOOM! I have a room in which it looks like someone lives! It’s a remarkable transformation. Suddenly some of the most important experiences and people in my life, even if they were some time ago are back, and I love it.
I can remember the when, what and why of each of them. The Boatcruise, the Ball, the Bazza and Shazza party when I was very nearly very charming, a Buck’s party, the Wedding (carrying on from the Buck’s). The far East, my brother, Buddha. A storm blowing over my parent’s home, the tree I climbed as a child and a photo of my family when my grandfather and uncle were still alive and my grandmother knew who I was.
Maybe this place won’t be too bad after all.