Construed as turf, home just seems a provisional claim, a designation you make upon a place, not one it makes read more

Construed as turf, home just seems a provisional claim, a designation you make upon a place, not one it makes on you. A certain set of buildings, a glimpsed, smudged window-view across a schoolyard, a musty aroma sniffed behind a garage when you were a child, all of which come crowding in upon your latter-day senses -- those are pungent things and vivid, even consoling. But to me they are also inert and nostalgic and unlikely to connect you to the real, to that essence art can sometimes achieve, which is permanence.

There's nobody at home
But Jumping Joan,
And father and mother and I.

There's nobody at home
But Jumping Joan,
And father and mother and I.

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and read more

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

The worst thing about work in the house or home is that whatever you do is destroyed, laid waste or read more

The worst thing about work in the house or home is that whatever you do is destroyed, laid waste or eaten within twenty four hours.

Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores read more

Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores appeared round about 1894. With their jangling keys, nasty suits, revolting beards, moustaches and tinted spectacles, estate agents roam the land causing perturbation and despair. If you try and kill them, you're put in prison: if you try and talk to them, you vomit. There's only one thing worse than an estate agent but at least that can be safely lanced, drained and surgically dressed. Estate agents. Love them or loathe them, you'd be mad not to loathe them.

Home is where you feel at home and are treated well.

Home is where you feel at home and are treated well.

How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
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How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
Still to ourselves in every place consigned,
Our own felicity we make or find.
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.

What's the good of a home if you are never in it?

What's the good of a home if you are never in it?