She asked what I was up to nowadays, and, mentally running through all the things I couldn't possibly tell her about, I mentioned that I occasionally blog about cushions. "Cushions, yes, very important," she politely said, which reminded me of when I wasn't at all interested in interiors either. Frivolous, transient, homey stuff, of no significance when you barely spend any time in your house, as you're in work, pubs, clubs, and in transit, and the finer detail of the rosewood carving is obscured by the swarm of eligibles.
But now I am somewhat interested in interiors, and it dates from when I first had children, which was also a major change to someone who thought buggies and prams were in the way and was barely aware that they contained small people. Round about when Pink Daughter was born, we bought this house, which was my very first to do as I pleased with. When I wasn't reading the manual on how to look after a baby, I glanced around and thought it would all be a bit jollier in white, both inside and outside.
The painting started it, and since then I've gone on to an expensive sofa addiction, a fondness for curves and a design blog-reading habit. And although the interiors phase may be as short-lived as other fancies of mine, I'm convinced that I'm happier for not living amid the default varnished pine, fitted kitchens and sensible sofas of my pre-interiors awareness.