The bedroom is always the coldest of the flat, until the warmth and familiarity of the duvet works its magic and prepares you for the rest you need to continue on. The furniture; the chest of drawers and the closet, bursting with attire that you know has been bought in order to create the illusion of confidence and beauty, but that still gives you the boost you need to face the day. The mirror, reflecting everything around you, the mess, the inadequacy of the home-keeping skills you are expected to have, but full of everything you know that gives you the feeling of safety you associate only with home.
The castle stands majestic at the top of the hill, the whole of the city circling around it and bustling beneath it. This is the view from my window. The sky is a vast expanse of grey, but at night it changes to pink and then to black. The city lights up, from the dull glow of the windows across the street to the coloured lights barely visible shining down the mile. I like the view from my window. It is exciting.
The Street Below
The street below my home is different from day to night. You can see it in the light of day as a nice place to live. It has shops, pubs, restaurants and supermarkets within five minutes of my sofa. Respectable people walk past in a respectable way. Night falls, I cannot count the number of times I have lain awake, listening to the tunes of sirens of all descriptions mixed with drunken cries, both happy and sad. Shocking! Until you, or your friends head down to the street, to join the masses. Then it becomes normal.