Something completely different

Have you ever lived in a house made of louvres? I do hope that’s the correct word, or we’re off to a rough start. Back in Darwin, the share house was made of such things, allowing air flow, a lovely quality in the tropics.

Then there was a Depression-era log cabin, back down south – unlined, uninsulated and therefore louvre-like. It was cold as the proverbial in a Victorian winter, and hot enough to evaporate eyeballs in summer.

In Gympie, QLD, I was offered the old school bus as a bedroom, but as often as not slept by the fire in the main house. At Waikuku, NZ, it was an old fibro beach shack with a toilet that froze overnight.

None of them were particularly private. The louvres in particular were often mortifyingly revealing in a house full of young people. All had a certain rustic charm however. All allowed communion with numerous creatures small and bitey, and both the cabin and the bus came with outside baths, although only the latter was heated… with a fire… under the stars. There was a certain romantic quality to each.

Not so with this place I’m in now. I am reminded of stables in a Brutalist style, and when I dream of it (yes, I do), I’m back in a bus – a large, boring one with flat tyres. I have heating, cooling, hot and cold running water, solid walls and doors and even flyscreens, but romance? Pah!

That’s why I garden in the wild-and-woolly style. That’s why I write and craft and stare out the window at the old stone church of yore; trying to inject some soul into the concrete and asbestos and tin.

Some young tradesmen, in their infinite wisdom (or was it jest?) placed Next Door’s aircon unit on our adjoining wall, which allows me to share the joys of motorised noise and vibration. Some days I feel as though my rooms are atop a giant washer on spin cycle. As Next Door and I enjoy vastly different body clocks, I’m frequently jolted awake and instantly wish to dismember animate and/or inanimate objects. It’s a pip.

As someone with hermit tendencies, I long for caves and cabins in isolated areas. From hard-won experience I know I wouldn’t last long, but a bit of quiet once in a while is a lovely thing. I’d almost sacrifice some structural integrity for some.