The comfort of things

I am under no illusions about the style of our home. More shabby than chic, it’s been described by polite folk as ‘eclectic’.

Almost every object within its walls is second-hand: hand-me-down, cast-off, or op-shopped. Nothing is perfect, which is my preference. Although some things are long-term stop-gap measures I’d prefer to replace. (Yes, mdf bookcases, I’m talking about you.)

But my latest buy of a supremely ugly, but immensely comfortable, high-backed couch, had me wondering: When exactly did comfort, rather than beauty or convenience, become so important to me?

I’ve never bought a couch before.  We’ve always been grateful recipients of hand-me-downs. And the few weeks when we haven’t had one, while moving house, made me realise how important they are. Simply to be able to sit somewhere comfortable at the end of the day is a pleasure you do not appreciate until it is not there.

But none of these couches have really, truly worked for me: too low to support my neck, too deep for me to sit without slouching. They felt like ‘machines for sitting’, as Le Corbusier put it, rather than dreaming and resting in.

Then I sat on this couch in the local op-shop while the kids rifled through the 50 cent box of toys. And I didn’t want to get up.

I sank, but didn’t slouch, into it, my neck supported, my legs able to easily reach the floor. A physio’s dream. I’ve since noticed visitors gravitate to this couch from our other sofa.

In addition to its virtue of supreme comfort is that it is Australian made and second hand. Just a pity it was so incredibly ugly.

So ugly that my ‘one day’ plan to make slipcovers has actually eventuated, with the help of two $4 calico curtains and this blog tutorial. Not a creative challenge, although I do confess I did have a moment or two where I thought: ‘This isn’t going to work.’

But the resulting slipcover did work (even if it isn’t perfectly stitched). Now we have comfort and a blank canvas to work with. Although some new cushions might be in order…