We’re busy “dry shopping” for the new apartment (please keep all fingers and toes crossed that the purchase goes through in the coming days) and we’ve made a list of “must haves” and “Oooh wouldn’t it be luverly” beautiful objects.
I’m currently lusting after one of these:
It’s an Eames chair and something I’ve wanted since I was about 16.
I haven’t got the requisite thousands of quid lying about to get the real thing, so I’ll probably have to go for a reproduction in the first instance. But every model I’ve ever sat in has been so exceedingly comfortable, it’s like like party on my back.
And, let’s face it, my ass.
I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in my seating preferences of late. For the last couple of years, I’ve been drawn to chairs that can only be described as…reclining.
It’s probably a sign of my age, but I now associate true comfort with a reclining chair and a footstool.
There. I’ve said it.
It’s on the list, but I have to be realistic. Things like a bed and a couch will come first. This, however, will be a close third.
I think I deserve it.