Repose

In a marathon effort last night, I cleaned my bedroom. Normally it's not so much a bedroom as a storm-tossed ocean of abandoned clothes and papers, so cleaning it required several hours, three loads of washing, and my remarkable impression of Moses parting the Red Sea.

The result was so, well, unique that I thought I'd better capture the scene for posterity. I also decided to begin an occasional series called The World of Blandwagon. Or more accurately, The Grainy, Slightly Out-of-Focus World of Blandwagon. Installment I: The Blandwagian Bedroom.



And people wonder why I never get lucky.

I'm sorry, but I like skulls. They're cool. The charcoal drawing on the wall is based on a lamb skull on display in the living room.

Let us focus on some of the less orthopaedic elements of the decor.



The big one is an expensive designer toy, the sort of thing purchased by cool kids who went to art school and drive Citroens and know how to DJ. His little friends are Digimons that I got cheap at the supermarket.



I call the man in the blue shirt Beatnik Hipster Dad. He's the Father doll from an Ikea set, and he's got that groovy little hipster goatee, the retro black-framed glasses, gently spiked hair and white designer sneakers. You just know that he's an architect, and listens to vintage Bessie Smith jazz records. And of course he speaks perfect idiomatic English with a cool Swedish accent.

His mount is a pit bull-shaped radio. The spaceman came from the supermarket. I get a lot of crap from the supermarket.



Apparently the phone line running into my house can't support this phone if the three other ones are all plugged in. So for the moment it's simply for show, waiting either for Telstra to improve the line, or for me to move to a more telecommunicationally robust house.

Sometimes I dial it anyway, just to get the tactile flashback to my childhood.



And then, to get rid of anyone who isn't put off by the skulls - Johnny Cash on the bedroom door. How much do I love this picture.