The Loft! Or Is It An Attic?

As the moving home with MEcfs saga continues. I have a very bad word to utter.

Disclaimer: This posts contains humour and flippancy. Which in this stage of the moving process is desperately needed.

Wait for it…LOFT!

There! I said it. LOFT. LOFT LOFT LOFT. I can picture folk hurriedly trying to look away and distract themselves, whilst scurrying outside covering their ears simultaneously screaming. Silently muttering – ‘what affrontery is this, to utter such a word without warning’!

Who invented them? Lofts I mean.

Don’t answer that.

THE LOFT?

*A definition: insulation filled voids. As opposed to the attic design of ancient Greek architecture inspired Attica style of Athens. (Please see image.) Or trendy artists atelier.

Attica Style Architecture — The Attica Style

No, I am referring to the lovelies below.⤵️

Who on earth woke up one day and suddenly thought:

‘I know, I shall devise a design atop a residential building with a pitched roof, which serves no purpose other than to house insulation *please see definition further above. And or a cold water tank replete with saggy lagging and optional dead Pigeon if the lid has fallen off said receptacle.’

A design:

Which is freezing in winter, like an oven in summer. Retaining enough heat to sustain a fleet of hot air balloons.
With minimal airflow and no possibility of fitting windows without planning consent (or major reconstruction). So no day light or fresh air!
Little to no standing room. But ensuring that if you can stand almost straight, one’s hair is singed on the dingy light bulb.
Impossible to access, only via an almost vertical ladder. Which when in operation is often positioned hair raisingly close to a descending staircase to the ground floor.
With rafters that anyone can easily fall through. But can’t always tell, if the insulation overlaps. Cunning huh!
With an access hatch large enough for nothing unless balanced on your head. But exasperatingly available enough to shove any number of useless items in which will not see the light of day till the next millenium.
And perfect for mice to make a home in a discarded scalextric box.

‘And I shall call it. A LOFT.’ They said.

Lost On Fallen Tree (makes about as much sense as a loft does.)

‘Aah, that is shere perfection in design. My work here is done.’

Oh No It Isn’t

‘No, but wait. Further inspiration has come to me.’ Light bulb pings. No not the loft bulb, or the inclination to cease the design.

I shall now design flat cumbersome panels to fit across said dangerous rafters. To enable unsuspecting people to gather years of detritus. Accummulating boxes of varying dimensions completely unsuited to the loft, that won’t fit and which are impossible to negotiate up or down said vertical ladder unless balanced with one hand and your big toe. But manoeuvring (or storing) of which is only to be attempted when one is in a bad mood, a hurry or desperate.

More About Lofts

And once ascended into said *void, no one can hear the muffled screams and cries of awkward size box mover arounder as they search for that 30 year old set of defunct copper look screw drivers which their friend won at a fairground in 1903, and which have never been used due to being a third of the regular size. Whilst lying wedged between grandmas highchair and a once used and now discarded picnic hamper, with a bear with one ear missing precariously balanced on top.

So in practice lofts are suitable for absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada. Zero.

‘Really. Just absolute perfection.’

Someone never said in history at sometime or other.

Our Loft

Yes. You guessed it. Our loft space is waiting to be divested of its decades of accummulated accoutrement. And transferred to donate, recycle, refuse or reuse piles. Who am I kidding. Unlikely. Possibly all rolled under one heading aka: a skip! I feel guilty already. As the LANDFILL claxon sounds. But what does one do with that ancient school blazer and rocking horse?

In our defense we started decluttering five years ago. Thank goodness, or it would feel even worse. Heaps of shredding has been achieved and one hundred books donated in this year alone. And yet the stuff prevails! And the loft still awaits.

‘Oh happy days. Not.’ Said my husband under his breath!

Closing Thoughts

I shall purposefully take shelter and make as few detritus related decisions as are humanly possible from my bed sanctuary. Unless the decision involves a soppy looking soft toy with sad eyes! Or perhaps I could activate Room 101? Oh, that’s what a loft actually is! Hahaha!

The End