It's All About Lumens

           I’ve been staring at the new light fittings in the living room, trying to like them. They were bought from the internet months ago but, now that the electrician has finally made his way here to fit them, the anticipated glow of satisfaction at their installation has failed to materialise. The reality does not match my vision of stylish practicality: they dangle obtrusively from the low ceiling, inserting themselves into my line of sight – and my peripheral vision – which would be fine if they were intended as decorative features in an otherwise bland interior. But they do not enhance the space, they intrude on it. Moreover, they are unfit for purpose in that they are disappointingly dim. In themselves, they might be considered attractive, but they don’t belong here and, despite the fact that they are inanimate objects, they are beginning to annoy me. I am determined to replace them with discreet, un-showy fittings that illuminate the room without drawing attention to themselves. I know it’s a ‘first world’ problem, but I hope the electrician isn’t too busy to return pronto: I have praised his work and paid him promptly by way of inducement.

          But I must not sit here and obsess about such trivia: after all, I suppose I should count myself fortunate to be living in a time and place where there is even an option to have electric lights at all. Without them, it would mean a different sort of life, one regulated by the sun. It might be simpler and more biorhythmically beneficial to divide one’s activities into those that can be achieved during the hours of daylight and those that cannot, but it doesn’t suit everyone – and it does impose limits on ‘progress’. Let’s face it, the Dark Ages were aptly named, both figuratively and literally.

          Meanwhile, the days are getting longer and brighter, which means that outdoor pursuits begin to look alluring. So much so that, after prevaricating for a while, I have at last bought a kayak. Not just any kayak, but one that is made from recycled material – pieces of plastic that might otherwise be encountered in the very waters through which I intend to paddle. What swung it for me – apart from the sustainable production method – was the discovery that comfortable seats and backrests are available as optional extras. And, as if by magic, on the day the boat was delivered, there were wet suits for sale in Lidl for a mere £25. I snapped one up, though my OH disapproves of the fact that it is made of neoprene and so at odds with the recycled kayak and the whole sustainability tilt that our way of life has assumed of late. (She is awaiting delivery of her eco-friendly, plant-based wetsuit at ten times the cost of mine).

          But a garage full of water-sports gear does not mean an end to the joys of campervanning – at least, not yet. We spent the first couple of days of this week walking part of Offa’s Dyke just north of Chepstow, basing the van at a classically beautiful farm camping field. The nights were frosty, but the sun reasserted itself each morning, tricking us into thinking that summer had arrived, so warming were its rays. It remains to be seen whether a conflict of interest will arise between kayak and campervan, but it is more likely there will be a compromise in the form of a roof rack and a tendency to steer towards coastal campsites. Either way, being outdoors is a healthy way to counteract interior design anxiety syndrome. In the end, it’s good to bear in mind that how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.