For years, my childhood bedroom had wallpaper with flower fairies on it. I loved it when it went up, but I remember Mum and Dad mumbling that I would outgrow it too quickly. I was on the threshold of whatever age that is when childish things become embarrassing, I suppose. They were right, of course, and in no time I was sick of the patchwork of fairies alighting my walls.
It started in one corner. Perhaps a piece of wallpaper got scraped by furniture. I started to pull. And soon my mind was bent on destruction. But ours was not the kind of household where you could stroppily demand a bedroom be redecorated. Besides, I didn't want to ask. I had a feeling that would break the idea I had. I worked in stealth.
It was the 80's then and all I wanted was for everything to be pink and black. I had one of those furry pencil cases. It was pink. And I hung L'Enfant poster inside my wardrobe door. I took myself to the paint shop and bought a sample pot of pink paint and tried it out in a secret spot behind my dresser. It was the colour of marshmallows. I might have painted some other things with that pink paint too. Perhaps I took it to my cassette holder.
Mum and Dad must have noticed the smell of paint, even if it was only a Dulux sample pot. They probably laughed and shook their heads and tried to delay the inevitable work. Eventually, the fairies came down and I got some abstract, textured wallpaper instead. I never really got the pink and black room in my head, but I rallied and moved on.
And nowadays I nearly always wear black. Yet pink sneaks in. And when it does, I remember that room; the flower fairies so forlorn in the end. The swell of an independent idea, the eager strain of not needing to ask for something.
Products: Red Roses by Jo Malone | Lip balm from Rodin | Nail polish from Chanel | Dress from Gillian Tennant | Wallet from Mulberry | Anchor bracelet from Saskia Diez | French cotton net bag from Kaufmann Mercantile | Lauren flats by Chloe from Net-a-Porter