Louise Brealey Instagram – In Lockdown we made a den under the house for reading and writing. I painted the walls apple green like Milly Molly Mandy’s attic, found a table in a skip, bought grass wallpaper made of actual grass for the ceiling. I filled it with ferns, cacti, fleshy succulents with leaves like ear lobes & the spoils from thirty years of car-boot sales. These include an old postcard of the Pantheon (Shepherds Bush), an embroidery of an owl in a birch tree (Toronto), a 1956 painting of a basket of fruit (NYC), an Automatic Steriliser (Bristol) and the belly of a crocodile (Wellingborough). The ceiling is only 5’7” high in here (I’m little, so I’m alright, Jack) but there’s a day-bed with cushions and blankets and it faces west so the Spring sun has found me. Last winter the old doors fell off and the foxes came to camp. Today, a whiff of Sadolin from the new doors, and the sound of London’s birds singing in the Spring and the sun down, over the hill and far away. Gilb, seldom one to miss a shot at a sunbathe, is in seventh heaven. We have reached peak Sunday.