Via Rhodri, Charles Arthur and mytornadohell.livejournal.com, comes this article by Caroline Phillips from last Tuesday’s Evening Standard.
You’ll want to read it in full for the full effect.
You may wish to read it several times.
You may wonder if it is simply a parody.
It is not.
Of course there’s nothing in the slightest bit amusing about losing your home. But this? Well… read it for yourself and see what you think.
These are some of my favourite bits…
My home has always been my sanctuary, a place of exquisite beauty and calm. I read or sit undisturbed on our leather sofa in our family room with its off-white walls, stainless steel and sage-green stone surfaces, and gaze through its wall of sliding glass doors onto our fragrant cream and lavender garden with its climbing roses, ancient apple and pear trees, camellias and jasmine.
All that changed in less than 10 seconds on Thursday when the tornado visited. The glass roof of the side-return exploded, tinkling down from the ceiling like sharp raindrops […] A black roof tile speared the American walnut floating shelf, scattering our younger daughter Ella’s birthday cards […] The words have been lacerated by shards of glass. Three bricks. Rainwater. Broken glass. A wooden bowl of Christmas clementines. These are vomited across our limestone floor.
[…]
When the cordon banning residents access to affected Crediton Road houses came down, apartheid prevailed for three houses. Ours was one.
Now we’ve been allowed home to survey our own private war-zone. […] Simon Willsmer, our loss adjustor […] was sensitive and honourable. He said we could stay in a hotel. Adrian explained that there is only one hotel in London: Claridge’s. Simon did not demur. And he loved what’s left of our specialist-polished plaster walls.
[…]
On Friday evening, stupidly, we met friends for dinner in that awful eye of the social tornado, Cipriani. I wore Tornado Chic – the grey pants and multiple jumpers that were still my only clothes.
[…]
The Apocalypse was not all bad. There was something comforting about watching the Salvation Army dispensing tea and sandwiches. Uplifting seeing people in crisis helping one another. And meeting kindly new souls in the street. As for the house, it’s just bricks and mortar. We’re not in a tent in Pakistan or even Brent council’s temporary accomodation. […]
One reply on “Deserves the Widest Possible Audience…”
Jesus wept. I hope their whole house is destroyed next time.
“We’re not in a tent in Pakistan or *gasp* even Brent council’s temporary accomodation.”
Too fucking right you’re not, sweetheart.
My favourite sentence is “Three bricks.” Three whole bricks?
But Matt, how could you not include this heart-rending paragraph:
“If you dream of your home, it symbolises your psyche, what makes you you. It’s your security. My soul was in that house. For three years, I’d indulged my passion for perfect decor. In January, it was to have been shot for Homes & Property. On Saturday Ella is, no, that’s was, having three friends for a birthday sleepover. I am crying as I write this.”
Incidentally, I ran an IMDb search on the two “film producers” name-dropped in the article.
Julia Barron has a single credit, as a writer, not a producer, and for telly, not film. Moreover, it was the pisspoor Jessica Stevenson vehicle “According to Bex,” which seems to have disappeared rapdily from the schedules.
Juliet Levy has no entries.
Oh, just found another classic:
‘A dishevelled man in slippers walked past. “I’ve got to get to my house,” he muttered anxiously, “I need my medicine. I’m a paranoid schizophrenic.”‘
Oh, and: “I feared looting.”
Oh, and the endless enquiries to find out if the man with the serious head injuries is their friend, and the instant dropping of the subject when they find out it isn’t!
It truly is grim up North London.