post it notes

post it notes are my new friends.

since september last year when we decided to buy several walls and what passed for a roof in a field in Devon, the subject of home renovations has loomed heavy in my mind and on my conversational rollerdex. yesterday was completion day; its our all ours. somewhere out there some banking smoke and mirrors happened and money that was never ours in the first place, transferred along with hefty sums of fees; supposedly for the arduous task of organising it all to the former owner of the brick and wriggly tin wreck changed hands and we are now the proud owners of a wreck.

this is beyond what our american cousins would call a fixer upper, its off the scale project wise, frankly its a condemned, it boasts no doors, no windows, it may have seen power at some point but I'm not sure, i have only glanced upstairs from the safety of a rickety ladder since up there no floors exist. but I'm sure once the concrete milking troughs are destructed, the harvesting equiptment moved out and ten ton of dirt removed, the first world luxuries of running water and glass introduced it will be a magnificent home, i only hope to sustain earning prowess to enjoy it. 

the orgy of home magazines is becoming a nightly affair, glossy pages of elle, homes and gardens, period living (snigger from david) inside out are poured over, no advert editorial and article left unscutinised and criticised. i trace my hand over walls in restaurants, snap pics of tiles in the bathroom and examine seat coverings at the bar, food is no longer central to going out to dinner, location chosen for interior inspiration.

the downstairs loo is overflowing with magazines, pen and a small stack of post it notes vital accessories in the smallest room, no research moment should be wasted