KATY HARRINGTON

Something strange is afoot — I’m nesting

MY life has been more chaotic and unsettled than usual lately and it’s produced an unexpected side effect — now that the tumult of moving is over, I’m nesting.

I have a little flat all to myself (OK so it’s in a building that is set to be demolished before the end of 2019 but let’s not focus on that) and I want to spend all my time there. Every night after work I race home and climb the steps to Number 8. Once inside I pull off my shoes, hurl my bra on the floor and change into any pair from my growing collection of ‘house pants’.

Once properly attired it’s time to get down to serious business — pottering. I stack books in corners then decide they look silly and move them back to where they were. I arrange throws and rugs in an attempt to disguise the odd, ugly, unwanted furniture that has been left by the previous tenant (thank you for the second-hand microwave Mr Devine!).

I make endless lists of things I need to buy to make my nest more replete (a kettle – I’m currently boiling water in the aforementioned microwave; something to sit on — bean bags are within budget, sofas are not; a toilet brush; one of those things that holds rolls of kitchen towel and more fairy lights.) Maybe this is why they call it nesting — because you want to keep adding twigs to make it cosier. And by twigs I mean scatter cushions from Etsy and succulent plants. I have become addicted to Gumtree, searching intently for free furniture and wondering if it makes sense to buy a broken chest of drawers in Essex, or rescue an armchair in Ealing?

I am investing in a drill though, so if I perish due to a DIY related injury, I know I died happy.