When my friend, Mike, saw my HCMC bedroom for the first time, he described it as my shrine. A fitting epithet. The Cambridge dictionary defines ‘shrine as ‘a place for worship that is holy because of a connection with a holy person or object. Well, my bedroom is festooned with photos of holy people – my parents, my friends and myself! I marginally prefer ‘sanctum sanctorum (holy of holies) to ‘shrine because it has an alliterative ring and sounds grander. But the idea is the same – my bedroom is an extension of my most private self, reflecting my personality and my life.
Wherever Ive lived, I have always surrounded myself with photos and pictures. I know that some people prefer plain unadorned walls, but I find that boring; I want my walls to be visually stimulating. Ive been accused of being ‘like a student in the way I cover my walls with postcards, paintings and photos – meaning, perhaps, that I havent grown up. I take that as because I regard myself as an eternal student, forever trying to improve my understanding of myself and the world around me.
have memories and images inside my head; no, I want to be able to look at a photo of my old dad, to see Machu Picchu, to admire Hokusais ‘The Great Wave, to gaze at images of my favourite British birds.
It has ever been thus. The houses and apartments I have inhabited - in Reading and around the world – have all been ablaze with images, visibly attesting to my life and interests.
When I lived with my parents in Reading, framed prints of ‘The Rockeby Venus by Velazquez and Turners ‘The Fighting Temeraire, two of my favourite paintings from the London National Gallery, adorned the walls. My bedroom was lined with bookshelves, and the remaining wall space was filled with postcards, pictures and posters.
After acquiring a permanent abode in HCMC, a apartment where I plan to spend the rest of my days, I set about decorating it. My wife, who is not artistically inclined, has given me a free hand, and now, nearly three years after buying the apartment, the walls are with all manner of memorabilia.
the walls around the TV are original oil colours from Egypt and Venezuela, a silk cloth depicting Indonesian shadow dancing and paintings of my favourite musicians.
Dividing the in two is a wooden fixture with shelves supporting, among other things, a ceramic Buddha head, a conch shell from Phu Quoc, an ostrich egg from South Africa, my winners trophy from the 1991 Tanzanian Open Chess Tournament and an exquisite Tanzanian carving of a Masai woman wearing traditional dress. On the walls near the kitchen are two more oil colours from Egypt, framed papyri, a painting of me playing chess and many laminated photos depicting my wife, my heroes and people and places from my travels. A favourite is the photo of me at Ta Prohm Temple in Cambodia – standing amid ancient stones between the tentacular roots of a tree.
The big bedroom, where we keep our clothes and where visitors sleep, is covered in laminated of photos from my life.
The hall between the two bedrooms is similarly decorated: all available wall space crammed (artistically!) with pictures, including Robert Gilmors brilliant etchings of British birds, taken from the internet and laminated.
now to my shrine or sanctum sanctorum: the small bedroom where Thuy and I sleep. I spend far more time here than in any other room – 8 hours in bed and several hours each day doing various things on my laptop. Of all the rooms I have ever inhabited, this is the most copiously decorated; there is literally no space left for more pictures or photographs.
The desk on which my laptop rests is bounded by two walls, both covered in photos, pictures and beer mats. The beer mats are a memory of my time in Stourbridge, when I used to drink Bathams, Holdens and Doris Pardoes bitter ale. The photos are of my younger self, my friends and, especially, of my dad.
