Reblogged from Tangental:

‘And this,’ he threw open the double doors, ‘is how we’ve turned the small sitting room into a place of space, of relaxation, of infinite wonder.’

I could hear John’s teeth grinding. To stop the sarcasm ratching up to something fissile, I said, ‘It’s a glade, right?’

Jolyon’s eyes didn’t so much roll as summersault. ‘A glade?! It’s nature’s balm, a place where your soul can regenerate. It owes more to the divine than something as plebian as a glade.’

John had sat on a bank. ‘Is this real moss? Indoors? Geez, the damp will rot the effing flooring.’

Jolyon simpered. ‘Darling, it’s the latest in genetically modified Italian sphagnum, infused with a pixilation of Uzbeck yak’s milk and…’

‘Thought so. What’s next? What about a bog? Or doesn’t your idea of interior design run to something as mundane as a bog? No, I suppose we have our own Arthurian midden.’

Continue reading at Tangental…