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22 November, 2003

This Brit's home isn't his castle

In the previous post, I said:
I own my own home, but I'd argue that doesn't define the real 'me'.
That's not entirely true: it highlights a core aspect of my personality. I'm not a natural home owner. So long as there's a roof over my head, with walls & a door to keep me warm & dry and to keep the outside world outside, I don't have the slightest interest in who owns the house, and I have no interest in customising it (a.k.a. decorating).

It all just seems so trivial. When I moved in, the walls of the back bedroom, now my office, were peach/pink; not a colour I'd have chosen, but I haven't changed it, and don't particularly intend to. It simply doesn't matter, and as time progresses, I don't even see it. Similarly, the light fitting in the stairwell is ugly, but I don't make a habit of looking at the ceiling. The stairs are illuminated; end of story.

House ownership is the sensible thing to do. Rather than pay rent to someone else I can pay it to myself in the form of a mortgage, and keep the profits in the end. However, sensible isn't remotely the same as desirable. In my more depressed moments, I'm extremely tempted to sell up and return to rented housing. I'm stopped by the obvious fact that it'd be financially stupid, but I suspect I'd be happier, or at least in a situation fitting my self-image better.

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