Home is where the heart is

To me, the perfect house doesn't need all the latest bells and whistles, sparkling white benches and fancy light fittings. We're house hunting at the moment and the homes that grab my attention are the ones that have been loved - and loved well. You know the ones I'm talking about. They're aged, out-dated in parts and usually have a few odd paint colour choices.

When walking through these homes, you can feel the stories of those who've lived there in the past, welcoming you into their home. You can envision families eating in the dining room and children, grown by now, playing hide and seek in the yard.

I love a home with character. To buy a home and put my mark on it would be my dream. I don't want to renovate but I'd love for it to be imperfect enough so that I can still tweak little bits here and there. A splash of paint in the girls' room. Brightly coloured curtains in GB2's. A lovely cottage kitchen garden and plenty of room for running around and riding bikes.

To hang family photos, new and old and stretched oil paintings alongside etchings of old buildings and townships. A child-painted art work, framed, and somewhere, my collection of jugs, teacups and teapots. The textures of aged linen and lace contrasted with modern, angled furniture.

To me, my dream home is welcoming and warm. It isn't perfect, there is plenty of room for mistakes, accidents and star charts. Visitors are always welcome and the kettle is often freshly boiled. My home is where I look after friends and family. It's a reflection of who I am. A bit lumpy and bumpy in places, not as flashy and classy as others and certainly not expensively adorned. I'd like to hope though, a little bit friendly.

Post inspired by blogthis.com xox