Home Sweet Homewares

So, Rip van Winkle and I have found a flat. The annoying paperwork is almost complete and so subject only to the payment of a significantly large sum of money it will be ours on the last weekend of November.

I’m excited: it’s in a great part of town, close to excellent pubs and restaurants, within walking distance from work, a major metropolitan railway station and some markets, and (both delightfully and alarmingly) just down the road from Dr Evil’s place.

Finding a great sharehouse is a lottery. My accommodation history to date has been a celebration of the (mostly) random that has worked out spectacularly well in some cases (and you know who you are) and horrifically bad in others. The fact that they have been random, governed mostly by chance and circumstance, has meant that I’ve never put much thought into what each house will be like before I move in.

Until tonight.

I had been a bit wary of sharing a flat with a good mate – I’ve done it before and it has worked well, but you never know what might wreck an otherwise perfectly good friendship. Rip van Winkle and I have discussed this, however, and have been very honest about our living styles and what we want: namely, our own space and the ability to sit for an evening with a book and a cup of tea (or glass of port, in Rip’s case) and to not have to talk too much. I think it’s going to work well.

So, we’ve covered some of the big questions already. We’ve agreed no to a television, but yes to a wireless modem. Yes to a cleaner, and yes to smoking outside. Rip van Winkle suggested that we meet at the pub tonight to plan what practical stuff we’ll need for the flat. I thought this was a great idea – it’s only ‘part’ furnished and neither of us have the years of accumulated house junk we lug around at home. I also thought this would be a good chance for us to continue to be frank about what we wanted the flat to be like – you know, open, honest conversation early to avoid misunderstandings and simmering resentment later on.

I was right. It was just like that. But oh, so much more.

Rip van Winkle, you see, is a planner – not merely by nature, but by profession as well. He fills his days thinking about design, and function, and ‘optimal use of space’.

In my mind, I had prepared for this conversation by thinking: ‘a good couch, a book shelf, the right kind of coffee maker. Those are the non-negotiables’. I figured RVW would have a similar list, we’d hammer it out over a pint or two and find common ground.

But Rip was prepared. He brought a list, and we spent a good hour and a half going through the elements of the theory of the planning and design process.

Here they are:

- Site analysis
- Opportunities and constraints
- List required/desired uses
- Develop themes
- Develop floor plans
- Appraisal
- Detailed development.

The list was a thing of beauty. I argued that it was missing an ‘evaluation and review’ phase, but apparently that’s all part of ‘detailed development’.

You know what? It was awesome. For a non-spatially aware person such as myself who also tends to lurk down the obsessive end of the spectrum, this was a very pleasing experience. I got to listen to a good friend talk about a subject he loves, and though I gave him shit about the list (as you do) I actually enjoyed thinking about what I want from my home in a very specific way.

And it’s amazing how much detail you can get into when you’re apparently just talking theory. We didn’t actually MAKE any real decisions. We certainly did not do a floor plan, or decide about whether we need a couch, an armchair AND a dining table in the living room, or where they’ll go, or what colour they should be.

We did, however, discover that we are in complete agreement about just about everything, including such important topics as:

- The superfluity of microwaves.
- The importance, if one must have Teflon, of using non-metal (preferably wooden) utensils.
- Knives.
- Drinking glasses.
- Dinnerware.
- Plants.
- Pets.
- Side tables versus coffee tables.
- Clothes-drying racks.
- Thin-handled cutlery.
- Wine storage.
- The minimum number of saucepans required for every purpose, from making soup to heating milk.

It was fantastic. There was no topic on which we couldn’t find at least broadly principled, if not energetically enthusiastic agreement. I had no idea that I had such strong opinions about household paraphernalia.

Dr Evil had very kindly offered to cook us dinner, so we adjourned to his flat, still lost in our conversation, continuing our journey of mutual appreciation of various everyday items.

“Good noodle bowls. The deep ones with steep sides, heavy ceramic.”
“Yes! And an excellent garlic press.”
“Oh, absolutely.”

Both of us so were wrapped up in expressing the secret utensil and cookware desires of our innermost hearts that we didn’t care how ridiculous we sounded.

Until we heard Dr Evil wheezing with hysterical laughter.

At the time, Rip van Winkle was showing me the glass lemon squeezer he’d found at an op shop the other day – it was absolutely perfect, just how I’d described the one I wanted twenty minutes before in the pub.

Dr Evil: You know, you should rent out fly-on-the-wall camera access in your flat. You two are freaking hilarious.

At one point, RVW proposed an elaborate scheme for streamlining dishwashing processes, whereby we would each have ‘our’ designated plate, mug and bowl (he did mention the phrase ‘with our name on it’), for use solely by that person and to the exclusion of all other crockery and glassware, thereby ensuring minimal pileup of dirty dishes.

By this stage I was weeping with laughter too. I could see his point (and endorse it), but holy hell, we’re a freak show. I love it. This is going to be fun.

jLo: You know, when we started this conversation I had no idea that we would agree so closely on so many things.

RVW: I know! We are so symmetrically anal.

(A pause).

jLo: You know, there are gay men out there who never find that.