My Home. Story and Photos by Uncle Monty.

My Home.

Story and Photos By Uncle Monty.

:@@
She was an American madame was she when

she said, “A house ain’t necessarily a home.”

Madame Polly Adler couldn’t have been more

correct. How often I’ve visited houses that

aren’t real homes to those who live there. An

air of unhappiness and strife oftentimes dwells

within. And how often I have visited homes that

aren’t houses. Yes, the rich may have everything

money can buy inside their house – fancy furniture,

expensive décor, a smooth and slick kitchen and all

the latest that is considered chic -- yet the sense of

emptiness of the place is far from being home sweet

home. Then, the poor may have a humble dwelling

yet it is truly home sweet home with love and care

for all who live there. Home, of course, is where

you make it and how you make it, so we're told.

@@

Without a home, the disconcerting condition of

homelessness, displacement, and marginalization

ever grows for many. While others cope quite nicely

without a home or even wanting a home. Their home,

ironically, is not having a home. They don't want

the care or worry or expense of having a home

of their own, except perhaps under bridges at

night or squatting somewhere for a temporary

abode or making do with roughing it with a

sleeping bag away from other vexing humanity.

@@

But for the majority of us, we yearn constantly

for a place we can call our own home. That's

why folkz pay through the nose to buy a house

to live in either by choice or circumstances or

condition. Yet, "a house ain't necessarily home"

even after that. Most people spend their entire

life paying for and protecting their house or

home. And today, most folkz spend more time

out of the house or home than inside it by needing

to go to work to pay for it and its upkeep and to

meet the taxes on it. Aside from that, most other

times are spent just to gad about on holidays or

at shopping malls or outside entertainment or

on outings for the kidz. The only time they seem

to be there for anytime is to sleep at their house

or home. The homeless rarely can do such thingz.
@@
Two years ago, I was assigned sheltered housing

due to my pension age and my status as a vunerable

person and because I was then homeless and selling

The Big Issue as a street vendor. My joy of having

a place to call my own and my home made me feel

ecstatic, especially after having lost my own home

by a catastrophic fire with my house insurance

having not been renewed by my own failure just

three days earlier to the house fire. I not only

lost my home but my house, too.
@@
So when I arrived at my second floor sheltered

accommodation, I had not one stick of furniture

or a bed to sleep on or even a tea towel or any

-thing to frugally furnish what I now had. The

place was totally empty, except for an electric

cooker, a small fridge, room lightbulbs, kitchen

fixtures and large white drapes at the windows.

@@

But that didn't worry or faze me one little bit

at my joy of having the place I could and would

turn into my first English home after almost 40

years of being away from England. My family

owned our first home at Highbury in 1955.

My dad then paid, I believe, just 7.000 quid

for it and today the house has been sold for

almost £800.000. Oh my ... oh, my.
@@
My friends and customers of The Big Issue
soon came to my rescue to furnish my needs

to setup house with Contessa Maria leading

the way with her spare bedroom furniture
and many utensils she promptly sent from her

£1.9 million, 18-room, house at fancy St. John’s

Wood to my little sheltered accommodation.

@@

Others like dear Pat Carney, Jean Frampton,

and the late Carol Richardson also brought me

bedding, rugs, pots and pans, etc., etc. I was

ever so grateful to them and bless their souls. By

the third week’s end, I had more than I could use

or manage. Robert York and his wife Sylvia also

came and filled full my fridge with top groceries

and all the food I could possibly need and eat.

They're in the grocery business, thankfully for

me ... Every few weeks they still do the same.

Wooooooooooooow.

@@

I share here some pictures with you all out

of my pride, but not my boast. I thought it

would be nice to show you what can be done

with a little help from my many friends at

my sheltered home.
_

:: My Dining Room ::
_
:: Leading to my Hallway ::
_

:: Pair of Victorian Rosemead Vases from Maria ::
_
:: Last Year's Xmas cards/giftz from my BI pitch ::
_
:: My Spartan Bed Room ::
_
:: At where I do my blog, surf, and e-mail ::
_
:: My Compact Kitchen ::
_
:: My "Reception" Area ::
_
:: My Sitting Room ::

@@

The beauty of going to car boot sales is

the stuff I can find for peanut prices of

the stuff I like to decorate or enhance the

presence of my simple home. My personal

taste is not of the cultural mass but rather

I say I'm rather old fashioned. I love things

that are old - decorative items, rugs, paintings,

antique furniture, old jewellery, rare coins,

antiquarian books and prints and the older

the better for me. The antiques I go for are

not at expensive antiques auctions (which, I

can ill-afford to say the least) or upmarket

antiques shops and pricey shows, but at

plain car boot sales and less and less at

charity shops unless I'm outside of London

at some new town with local charity shops

to browse for a "steal" or a "find." I don't

shop at Oxfam and the like anymore.

They're a rip-off at best as far as

I'm concerned.

@@

So in any event, I do hope you liked

seeing inside my sheltered home ...

Take care, Uncle Monty.

+St. Cyril, 2oo8.