I had cause to visit one of the other flats in my block last night. I've been living here for years and in all that time I don't think I've ever had cause to step inside a single other neighbouring apartment. I smile occasionally at the woman from the flat nextdoor, I think I once saw someone from the flat opposite disappearing through their doorway, and I know the elephants in the flat above me by the sound of their thunderous footsteps. So much for East End community spirit. But on this occasion, thanks to circumstance, contact with a neighbour was unavoidable.
I stood outside their front door for a few awkward seconds, not quite believing that I was to be permitted across the threshold. "No really," they said, "come in come in." So I stepped across the welcome mat, muttering tangential smalltalk, and looked around me.
Ooh what a nice flat. Comfy sofas with luxurious scatter cushions. Bookshelves and CD racks in an elegant Heals or Habitat style. That posh laminate flooring stuff that doesn't look like somebody's slapped sticky-back plastic on the floor. Smart painted walls in what were probably up-to-the minute colours (not that I'd know, but they definitely weren't magnolia). An open plan kitchen with shiny metal appliances, bedecked with ironware utensils and a sprinkling of spice racks. Glass tables, arty objets and hand-woven rugs. Uplighters! In short, it was everything my flat isn't.
I smiled politely, trying not to let on that I was impressed. Here was somebody living in a similar sized space to me but who'd made very different use of the opportunity. They'd thrown thousands of pounds at making their place look nice, with a seemingly effortless understanding of style and design and fashion. And I was still living pretty much in an as-built shell with stuff in it. My flat's plain and functional, not chic and dapper. I could make more of an effort and tart mine up a bit - throw in a vase or a mirror or something, or paint the walls, or hang some arty photographs - but I choose not to. Because my flat's a place for me, not a canvas for creative expression and sociable entertaining. And DIY is such a tedious way to spend a weekend, don't you think? So why bother?
As my short visit drew to a close, my temporary host suddenly revealed an unexpected inadequacy. "You haven't got any sellotape, have you?" All this beautiful furniture and fabric on show, but it seemed there were no practical accessories behind the scenes. "No problem," I said. "I'll go and get some." In my flat I have sellotape on display in the same way that most people have ornaments, so I was able to lay my hands on a roll with ease.
I'm promised I'll get the sellotape back later, eventually, sometime. But I'll be holding my potential visitor at the front door, however inquisitive they might be, with no more than a tantalising glimpse down the hallway. My flat might be ready for unexpected discriminating guests one day, but not yet.
