Home Is Where The Art Is

Building and renovating, is it all just for something to do? I mean, is Bunnings really so fabulous that people spend entire weekends there, dreaming up endless DIY conundrums between sausage sizzles. So shelter is just not enough? We have to knock it down, rebuild, extend, extend, extend.

I used to be a builder. I specialized in cubby houses, such magnificent mattress forts. They were sanctuaries of endless linen. And what of the cubby industry boom? Nothing. I could have rented them out for a decent price, competitive too.

But of course, it is about the journey and not the destination. The best part about the cubby was actually the building process; setting the 80s furniture foundations, sourcing the materials; the pillow bricks, blanket walls and what not. But when it was complete I would sit in the cosy cocoon for a short while and soon become rather bored, with a hint of agitation. So what did I do, knock it down, rebuild and extend until the cubby engulfed the entire rumpus room.

After awhile, we young visionaries toyed with the idea of a fanciful tree house. We were 10, which meant we could do anything. It’s the double digits license. Unfortunately for me, my younger sister and next door neighbour concluded that I was insufficient at chopping wood so I was made to sit on each plank whilst they sawed away. It wasn’t a ‘nothing’ job. I was also assigned the task of doubling as a live radio, singing their requested songs. Wilson Phillips and Roxette featured highly. In the meantime our nonexistent architectural plan, and any planning at all whatsoever, eventually resulted in us digging a large hole next to the tree then randomly hammering bits of wood placed around the hole. Voila! Well, what was it? Um, a shallow grave with an appalling fence, fit for any king and queen. Perhaps the worst attempt at a tree house ever. Well, at least we didn’t go over budget, as they do on every other renovation show. And, as proven, we did not spend time at the ‘tree hole’, we moved on to the next project, which of course was designing golf courses for dogs. Our model golf courses were made from painted plant matter which became rather hideous smelling compost several days after. And then all of a sudden we were in trouble for red paint handprints on the alsatian from up the road. Meanwhile, who calls an alsatian, Sharna?

In any case, we are the ones who knock down what we have built. We choose this. I defer my attention to ants. They are always building, and rebuilding, even after we knock down their homes. They don’t have insurance. They don’t even stop for a minute to collect their thoughts. No swearing pincers, just continual dirt relocation. They don’t even sit to enjoy the view of gigantic grass blades encroaching.And spiders, with their beautifully woven homes we continue to accidentally walk through and destroy. And we curse the inconvenience of slightly sticky silk strands in our faces. Well, you are not the refugee, are you? You did that. Then again, if I could weave a delicate shimmering house out of my own spit I may not be so worried about starting again. Let me know, though, if you ever see a daddy long legs at Bunnings.