My life right now is travel, and in general it’s alright. After all, when else will I be able to dance with the matador at a rodeo in Mexico?
But just as office workers might while away the days by dreaming of Brazilian beaches and the cobbled streets of Paris, when I’m shivering under filthy hostel blankets that smell like spunk, I drift off to sleep by imagining my dream life if I was to settle down.
I imagine high ceilings and white walls, coffee table books and light shining in from huge bay windows. Old battered tables and crumpled broadsheets, fresh herbs growing in the window, every spice in the world in the cupboard. Wooden floors and rugs from places I’ve never heard of. Posters from the Pompidou, Elle magazine on subscription. Chic and slouchy clothes in the wardrobe. High-waisted slacks from American Apparel or Zara. A hairdryer, a bubble bath and roast dinner. Tickets to a gig lying on a shelf by the door. A bicycle and fresh flowers. A garden that no one can see into. An iPhone! A Kindle!
Most of all I’d like a cup of tea and a cuddle from my mum, because I’m under the weather and feeling poorly. Fifty hours of air-conditioned buses in three days will do that to you. C’est La Vie!
How does your dream life look?