On pale colours (series: notes to myself)
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Pale colours are the hues of discrete affluence. Often green or brown, sometimes blue, less frequently red, all deeply tinted with white, greyshed and matted, they speak of detached lives and tastefully expensive houses. They match the oaky, automatic gate; the spacious, walled gardens; the grass, carefully mowed by invisible others; the roses, hobbily attended by the well-mannered owners; the expensive, conscientious electric cars in the courtyard; the old carpets to warm the creamy, stony floors; the terracotta in the spacious kitchen; the solid, timbered ceilings; the wooden doors; the immaculate linen; the bathrooms' ivory basins. Pale colours are quiet and unobstructive. They wish to be old, like unembarrassing money. Even when recently painted, they pretend to have been washed by centuries of tradition, smoothed by classic virtues and family reunions. They are meant to smell like musky wealth that does not age but accrues, of private schools for the children, of Oxbridge spo
