Huddled together, bathed in afternoon light, something jingles in your pocket as you peel another orange. We painted the living room walls an unapologetic sort of yellow because of a picture I’d seen of Monet’s dining room and thought vibrant enough to nudge us into the periphery of interestingness. Persevering through the colour swatches and the drying of the three generous coats, I went on to have a panic attack the moment it was done. In the general madness of everything, you convinced me to give it a chance. It’s been five years. I’m still not sure if the yellow really works with our collection of stuff – all the pretty things, precious things, curious things, and the vast subsection of matter that’s too insulting to donate yet too useful to chuck. But lately, with gloom slithering in through every screen and crack and loose window pane, I find that the yellow does give the day a bit of a lift.
A really pleasant stoneware mug with a portal to safety, whenever you might need it. Dishwasher safe.
