On Wedenesday, I went to visit Saladin. I am moving in with him. Any of you who remember way back to when I was able to write more regularly will now be saying "Whaaaa??!!" It's not exactly what you might think. We are not in a relationship, but we are still interested in each other. His housemate of two years is moving out, and he will leave an available spare room. I am in need of a place to live, and Saladin is in need of a civilised housemate. And yes, the four poster bed is a glorious bonus.
I did labour long and hard over whether it was wise to accept Saladin's offer, but when I finally did, it was as if a very tangible weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. The journey around there on Wednesday was to refresh my memory of how the room is, and to decide if I wanted it painting.
The room used to belong to Saladin's ex of a few years ago. Like me, she is a tall lady who generally wears black, and she liked her room the colour of imperial purple. If I were still ever so slightly more youthful, I would have requested it be left that colour. However, I have grown particular in my old age, and felt that the blood-red carpet was not a match, neither was the rosewood of the four poster bed. Moreover, now I am drawing more, I need lots of light. So the room will now be painted honey white, which is going to look very lovely.
But let's cut to the chase. What is more lovely is the fact that the bed has been customised for a lady of my persuasion. There are hooks and eyes everywhere, all the better to thread the ropes through, my dear.
I have a little gothic dresser in there, and a old spooky looking wardrobe... and the bed is kingsize, so I'll be able to fit a couple of boys in.
Even more important, Saladin is clean, responsible, dependable, calm... Everything I need.
But frankly, this is all by the by. I found I was hardly concerned about the room at all as soon as the door was opened by Saladin's housemate. Now, it is a well documented fact that I am one of the most impossibly fussy women when it comes down to men, boys, call them what you will. I hardly ever find anyone attractive. Ever. And when I do, they usually reveal some defective personality trait/lack of intellect/off-putting behavioural tick, and then it's ruined. So you can imagine what an unlikely event it would be for me to bump into a male of the species and think "I may have just met perfection itself". We are talking pigs flying, hell freezing over, and Jesus popping down to judge us all (remind me to hide).
I arrived at Saladin's, and this tall, beautiful boy opened the door. He had long, dark hair tied back in a pony-tail, pale smooth skin, high cheekbones, and an elegant face. But not only that, he was well-spoken, and had this graceful way of moving. Oh hell, he could have walked off the set of LotR, for Christ's sake. If he had had pointy ears, I may well have attempted rape there and then. But I am ruining a beautiful moment.
As I spoke to Saladin, this gorgeous creature poured me a drink, and played his guitar... What could have been very dodgy ground was not at all, because thankfully, he did not play like a teenager.
We then went out for dinner, and the boy revealed a vast intellect and a knowledge of philosophy, combined with a fairly wicked sense of humour, and the revelation that he is sexually dominant (though he does not like the label).
He leaves tomorrow for Poland. It's a three month trip.
I wish he came with the room.