Firstly I must apologise for returning to a much recurring theme of this blog, but when you follow the link, I think you'll forgive me. I'm back on treehouses, a subject that is in danger of becoming an obsession with me.
The Daily Mail has an article today on the work of James Curvan, a retired architect who now spends his time designing and building treehouses. If the one featured in the article is anything to go by, he must have known great success during his working career. That tree house is nicer than our actual house. (Sorry house, maybe if you had a platform, walkway, slide ...)
Of course, no child in Britain would ever have such a thing because a) planning permission would be required and refused, and b) in the unlikely event that pp was granted, there would be a besuited health and safety official who would disapprove of the fireplace, or the stairs, or the dog house, or the window boxes, or ...
Anyway, who needs a fancy pants treehouse? When we were kids the Wise One built us a ship, treehouse, space ship, aeroplane, car ... Actually it was all the same thing, a climbing frame cleverly constructed out of plumbing parts and painted sky blue, but its bizarre shape and our imaginations allowed it to be whatever we wanted.
So, as nice as Mr Curvan's work is, us Brits can do just as well with old pipe and leftover paint.
(Hm, if we did away with all the plants, the pergola, the table and chairs and the washing line, we might just be able to fit a small one in ... ooh, ooh, I know, we could knock the house down and then we could fit in one of the really big ones, with a platform and slide and walkway and everything. Where's my sledgehammer?)
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