Hopes are fading fast of not finding me in my nineties wearing a top hat, worshipping a spoon and living buried amongst the sort of junk I’ve started picking up and furnishing my home with. I’ll be found, stiff with rigor mortis beneath a pile of cutesy Wedgewood plates I picked up for thirty pence and an assortment of rustic pottery bobbins which are so crudely hewn and mis-shapen they appear to have been created by wolves. Near sighted, dumb wolves.

Don’t believe me? More fool you then as I show you these pictures taken from my Nü Haüs.

Lookie-wookie-do at this tea tin (25pencicles) and this awesome stovetop espresso machine which I found in a warehouse sale and is the rich, hunky genuinely Italian uncle to my nice but dim Ikea one. It cost a mere poundlington.

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See! Here! At this bunting I fucking well made. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LIVE ALONE. YOU MAKE BUNTING.

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Also you plant flowers in ditzy vintage tea-cups like feminism never happened and you never do unlady-ish things like fart, burp or smell.

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I lived by the sea for a bit and I found some shells and some stones what had holes in then I did a thing with them on a string with them then I hung it on my shed door where it looks nice can I have a cup of tea now nurse?

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(note the Dali-esque upside down lock.)

My mantelpiece is fucking brilliant.

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wpid-20130503_172902.jpgThis one is a mantelpiece close up.

Both these white bad-asses came from a junk box outside a charity shop for twenty five pence each. Are you sure you stretch to that? I asked myself sarcastically when I bought them. Shut-up brain, I replied to myself and then I hurt my own feelings 😦

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Bowls. The sum total of these three bowls is under a pound and I keep things in them. THEY ARE HANDY, ALRIGHT? BOWLS.

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Ah Jesus, this plate. I love this plate like I love my own daughter. More, possibly. It was thirty pence and is worth about thirty pounds. I love cracked glaze, I love the trim, the birds, the mandela in the centre. Stop looking at it, you’ve looked enough. Avert your eyes, heathen.

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I made these cushions from some old tablecloth fabric which cost me £2.50. In doing so I have created two cushions which are guaranteed to never, ever blend into any room as long as rooms exist, even if that room is in YOUR MIND.

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This chamber pot is the shizzlington isn’t it? Two pounds, which I haggled down from three. I haggled it like a boss.

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My wood burner. Birches be hatin’ on me. Don’t be like that, oak-ay? I’ve been pine-ing for one for ages. I’m sorry.

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My awesome bookcase. Look at that big ol’ hunk of wood at the bottom. Found it on a beach. And yes, that is a framed photo of MYSELF in the top right corner.

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