Comfort & Joy
Money spent on ease is money well spent
Occasionally, usually in the context of some sort of horrendous work change management workshop, I have to come up with a list of personal values. There are loads to choose from, and they all make you sound ace: patience, passion, loyalty, integrity. I definitely try and pick a heroic one if I think I can get away with it, and then ‘humour’ because obviously. The third one, the honest one, is comfort. I really value comfort, and I think generally things should be comfortable, and that if they are not something has perhaps gone badly wrong. It has not always stood me in good stead: I am not great at sports or public speaking or consistent hair removal. I like instant gratification, and I hold delusions of grandeur about skills I have never tried, like pottery or calligraphy. I am then, toxically, put off by not being good at them immediately. It’s not perfect! But it is the truth.
I think it might stem from parents who actually were quite happy with sometimes being uncomfortable. My mum used to get teased for her habit of arranging family flights at very challenging times of day in the name of economy. My dad would get up at 5am and do old fashioned calisthenics every morning. They both wore clothes until they fell apart. Don’t get me wrong, they were great epicures, but they were happy to not take the easiest route all the time, and when you are an only child and outnumbered, being able to suddenly defect as an adult is irresistible.
I also got married to the King of Comfort™. My husband is a man who is either comfortable or miserable, there is no in between. His family are the same. They are very good at planning treats and holidays and anticipating obstacles to their comfort, and I am a comfier person thanks to him/them. Here are some things that I have bought that hold up the comfort standard, things I know are extravagant because I feel a whisper of shame about them. Things that are So Good.
My coffee puck sucker
I really like coffee, but I try not to be a coffee wanker. One a scale where 1 is Aldi instant coffee made with the hot water tap and 10 is civet rat cold pressed bean nonsense, I am on maybe a 6.5. I have an espresso machine, I grind beans and I order coffee from Coaltown (an amazing Swansea based roaster). That said, I do not clean my machine as much as I should and I don’t mind having a shit vending machine coffee if the timing is right. My coffee puck sucker is a ridiculous object which uses electric suction to get the used ground coffee out of your portafilter (The removable bit with the handle that you twist into the machine. I had to look that word up. See! Not a coffee wanker!). It means that my day does not need to start with BANG BANG BANG coffee grains everywhere. It can start with a gentle sucky whirr. I love it and I appreciate it every day.
Mr Ken Seabird Ceiling fan
When we did up our bedroom in our London house (my mum’s house, before you assume I am landed gentry) we decided that we would get a ceiling fan. I say we, my husband wanted one. I thought it was a dumb idea, I mean, we lived in Willesden not Santorini! How much would we need a ceiling fan? The builder who installed it made it known that he also thought it was a dumb idea. We both humoured my husband because he really wanted it and said he would pay for it - and good god it is the most amazing thing. On a hot, sticky night, there is nothing better than the soft breeze of the fan caressing your smug limbs. I did lots of extremely tedious research on ceiling fans and I can tell you that the best ones are made in Taiwan by a brand called Mr Ken. You can buy them in the UK from a zany little place called the Henley Fan Company, where a menopausal woman (I know because it was the second thing she told me) answers the phone and is very funny and frank with you about it all. It is the thing I miss most about our old house, and perhaps when my husband gets a little windfall of telly residual money, we will ceiling fan again.
In the meantime, I bought this and screwed it to the wall - it looks good in an industrial mechanic’s garage from the 1950s sort of way, and it’s remote operated so you can turn it on from bed. Much cheaper, but it’s hard to go back once you’ve had Mr Ken.
