I’ve been living at the castle for almost two years now. Since the very beginning I’ve had a tumultuous relationship with the lamp-post I can see from my bedroom window. Every night I shout at it as I go to sleep – at times this is rude, but more often it’s vaguely affectionate. I scold and quiz it like you might a particularly hopeless friend.
Here’s last night’s one-way conversation:
“Lamp-post, have you thought about doing a Master’s in standing?”
“Lamp-post, do you need some socks?”
“Lamp-post, keep an eye on the tricksy bins.”
“Lamp-post, did you ever want to be a table lamp?”
“Lamp-post, I think you might be bit scared of the dark.”
“Lamp-post, have you got strong opinions on dungarees or Hungary?”
“Lamp-post, light of my life.”
“Lamp-post stop nattering, I’m trying to sleep.”
As I settled into bed I felt really pleased that two years on I’m still happily chatting to my luminescent neighbour. Who’d have thought there was so much to say to street furniture?
Photo: Henry Carroll