I do, I admit, watch far too many programmes about building houses, buying houses, decorating houses, developing houses and selling houses. Especially for someone who doesn’t own a house, isn’t buying a house and is forbidden by letting contract from decorating anything bigger than her nails.
But I’m picking up a lot of interesting information from these programmes – that you should be shot if you consider painting your walls anything more exciting than magnolia or stone (seriously, I hear they’re trying to make it a law); that everyone can see exactly what’s wrong with your house – apart from you; and that there are some things that everyone wants in a house, and are willing to pay tens of thousands of pounds to have it included.
Now, some of these things, I just don’t get. Parking space, for example. And the look of almost sexual ecstasy that comes over some punter’s faces when they get TWO parking spaces (or a large slap of concrete welcoming people to the house, however you want to look at it) is a sight to behold. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that, because I don’t own a car. And can’t drive.
I do, however, have an en suite bathroom. And all these programme witter on about how incredible it is, to have an en suite bathroom, and how everyone in the world wants an en suite bathroom, and are willing to pay thousands of English POUNDS (or Scottish/NI pounds, whatever) for the privilage of having one.
Let me tell them. Don’t.
I mean, I just don’t see the point. Sure, if you’ve got an enormous family and you can’t get into the bathroom of a morning, then sure. Or if you’ve have no legs below the knee and a bladder the size of a new potato, I can see that you’d want the toilet close. Otherwise – meh, nah, don’t see it.
The en suite bathrooms I have known basically fall into two camps. The ‘we’ve tacked this on to try and make it look classy’ camp, and the intentional camp.
In the ‘tacked it on’ camp, you’ll often find that the carpet runs straight through from bedroom to bog, and that the ‘en suite’ itself is basically one corner of the room with an mdf partition wall smacked round it. So, basically, it’s a toilet in the corner of the room. Which is a bit like a prison cell, really, isn’t it? Or like putting a bed in the bathroom, which is always how it feels to me.
The other kind is the very well thought-out, proper, nicely done en suite bathroom. Hate those too. For the last year, in this flat, we’ve had an en suite bathroom, mainly because it’s clearly the only place they could put it. Also, the bedroom is the size of a postage stamp, so you have to do a commando roll over the bed to get there.
My thing is, and I realise it may sound ridiculously old fashioned, but I do believe relationships need a bit of mystery, and that you only should really know your partner so well, you know what I mean?
And once you utter the line ‘Gosh, that was a big one’, ‘can you open the window in there?’ or ‘Is your tummy alright?’ from the other side of a door – that’s just too well.
So sing hallelujah for the new flat, where sleep will evermore be uninterrupted by a flush of flushing, and my beloved can go back to believing that women’s bottoms smell of flowers. Because they do, you know.
So, in conclusion, en suites? Non suites, more like.
Sorry, that was a rubbish conclusion.