Pick a light you would want to live in:

Late afternoon, through a kitchen window.A lamp, a desk, and everything else dark.Flat northern daylight, and a great deal of it.Colour. Several lamps, several colours, all on.

What is on your table?

A stone, a shell, and nothing else at all.Tools you use, kept where you can reach them.Somebody else's letters, bought at a sale.Six things, all on, all slightly too bright.

How you would spend a free weekend:

Growing something, or making something out of what grew.Getting rid of things until the room is finally right.Outside, in weather, coming back cold.In a second-hand shop, going through all of it.

Pick a sound:

Rain on an old window, and nobody else in the building.A room full of people talking over a record.Something being built somewhere, and wind.A low synth, a long way off, at two in the morning.

What you want a room to do to you:

Feed you, warm you, and slow you down.Interest you. There should be somewhere for your eye to go.Empty you out a little. Give you back some space.Wake you up. It is not bedtime yet.

Pick what you would collect:

Books you have annotated to the point of ruin.Almost nothing, extremely well chosen.Things that were made to last, and have.Everything. Everything with a story in it.

What you wear when nobody is looking:

Something soft and old, covered in something you made.Layers, dark, and identical to what you wear out.One good jumper and nothing complicated.Work clothes. They have improved with wearing.

What ruins a space for you?

Too much of anything. You can feel it in your chest.Beige. Nothing happening. Nobody's taste visible anywhere.Everything being new, and none of it having been anywhere.Overhead lighting. Every single time.

Pick a season:

Late summer, when everything is ready at once.High summer. Loud, outdoors, far too hot.Late winter. Grey, clear, everything visible.Autumn. The good coat comes out.

What are you like about your things?

Sentimental to a degree that is hard to defend.Ruthless. If it is not used or loved, it goes.Easy. Sand gets into everything and that is fine.Your things are mostly experiences and one very good coat.

The compliment you would want about your home:

"I could stay here for a week.""Everything in here has been thought about.""I can breathe in here.""This is so completely you."

Where would you actually want to live?

Somewhere with weather and a horizon.Somewhere with a workshop, whatever else it has.Somewhere old, with the original everything.A city, high up, with the lights on all night.