Blue Rabbit

Blue Rabbit has arrived.
He is lovely – a happy little chap, who has made his way up from Devon overnight to join us here at the Funny Little Bungalow, in a brown envelope addressed especially to me.

Blue Rabbit is actually a piece of art, a print, created by a lady I knew long ago, and have recently rediscovered. His title is actually Rabbit Dream, and to me, he looks just like Dandelion in Watership Down, and at any moment, he might dash off on a mission into the undergrowth that is his background.

To me, Blue Rabbit and various other bits and pieces I have stashed away are my anchors – the chosen treasures that I know will one day adorn my fabulous home, things which remind me that interior design will be on the agenda – eventually. Such treasures give me the will to carry on!

I have quite a few little artifacts that I plan to display when the walls are worthy of them. Big Seymour doesn’t know about this. Ironically, after his antics at the weekend, he is not a fan of holes in the wall. But I will need to accommodate my “stuff”!

There’s always the danger that I’m never destined to be tidy – maybe I like possessions a little too much. Certainly, the way I get excited about jumble sales is a bit of a worry.
But I wouldn’t want a boring house. I think this is because I have a fear of boredom.
A bored mind can turn in on itself and before long, you become like poor Bertha in the attic.
And so, in defending myself against such a danger, I surround myself with things that are interesting, and things that will channel my thoughts, should I ever need such a distraction.
The trouble is, being bored is so very far away from being possible that I suspect I am defending myself against a problem that will never happen. There will always be something that needs doing, even after all the work is done. In fact, this is probably one worry I should scrub off my list…

Maybe I just like things? Our new and improved house, that I shall hereby call the Post-Apocalyptic Bungalow, will not want for interesting pieces; I have an enormous original painting of a man in bed – a self-portrait dated 1955. The angles are all out, and Big Seymour twitches every time he looks at it for this reason, but I love its harlequin colours, and it reminds me of being four. It is currently stored behind my own bed.
There are some toys that I intend to keep, long after my children finish playing with them, namely, the La La Loopsies. They’re just so pretty!
Of course, there are my My Little Ponies, all 80s originals. My collection once peaked at around three hundred and fifty, but it’s now far more manageable. Sadly.
I have postcards and tea pots and a few special bowls. My Nanna’s grandfather clock will take pride of place in our entrance hall, and we may even be able to make it tick and tock again.
We have a 1930s sideboard that spoke to me in a charity shop once, and a G-Plan thing that did the same to Big Seymour. (That one is going to need a lick of paint after being stored for so long, but it’s one more job that will prevent boredom, and thus the onset of stark raving lunacy in the future.)
One picture that will take pride of place somewhere in the Post-Apocalyptic Bungalow is the one we call The Poo Picture. It is made up of the impressions of the Four Little Seymours’ footprints, and brings back vivid memories of the day it was created. Suffice to say, Little Seymour Number Two and Boy Seymour gave me a lot to clear up on that occasion, and it was more than just paint.
I like to think of my special things as Art. Most of my stuff is destined go up on the walls. I have a Lowry print that absorbs me every time I look at it, and a photograph on canvas that my lovely friend took, of my Favourite Beach In The World.
New, bare walls represent such an artistic opportunity! Thinking about them now, I can forget the destruction to come, and start to get a little bit excited… Maybe I’ll paint some of my horses on them? I can imagine what Big Seymour will say to that.

Unfortunately, though, we are now looking at the prospect of having to box up our stuff. That’s not so exciting. The Shed is barely big enough for the six of us, let alone all of our personal effects. Little Seymour Number one made the most of her bedroom devastation last weekend and began to pack. Most of her nick knacks are now safely stowed. I tried to start doing the same in The Dormitory yesterday, but only got so far, as Mini Seymour had acquired a sick bug, and kept puking in the My Little Pony bucket and needing cuddles.
I did have a small bonfire at the bottom of the garden for dormitory-gleaned combustibles, but I only managed to dispose of a few little things that were too far gone to even go back to the jumble sale. I nearly pulled Mini Seymour’s tiny, holey school cardigan back out of the flames to send it instead to The Memory Box, but it was so badly charred at this point that I was able to resist.
So progress has been made. But time is running out, and the roof is coming off, and what doesn’t get squirreled away will probably be buried under the ruins of the Funny Little Bungalow.
Yikes.

Blue Rabbit has arrived in our lives at a time of change. He shall forever represent that to me. He’ll be the symbol of metamorphosis, and the day he is hung on his very own wall, with a specially chosen frame and mount to-boot, I’ll know we are over the worst.
And, rather like Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy, maybe Blue Rabbit will encourage this broken, rotting old bungalow to transform into something new, something real. Something full of life! Lord knows, Big Seymour needs all the help he can get.

P.S – I’m on the look-out for one of those vertical fish vases with the open mouths and pained expressions. Tacky – but I rather like them.

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