|Home is where the heart is.|
I'm thinking about a weekly feature that I know I will be able to keep up. I think the months that are full of posts are the best ones in the archives, so a regular feature is good practice. I'm thinking about hosting One Way Furniture Thursdays. Hold your applause. It isn't written into the Constitution yet. That's why we are celebrating Thursday on Friday, today. Hip-hip-hooray!
I am a simple man with simple tastes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading a good furniture catalogue in the lulls between my adventures.
Not every opera is an epic. There are categories outside comedy and drama. There are topics more commonplace, that touch us every day. There is furniture.
I have a passing interest in One-Way Furniture, and its experiment in writing interesting sales copy. As regular readers of this blog know, I am a proponent of good writing artfully crafted with the aim of moving product while capturing the audience's imagination. You might have to go back a few months to find the exact citation.
Our story begins with the Chief Inspector stumbling into the apartment of the most celebrated detective mastermind in the history of good taste. Our hero is smoking a corn cob pipe while leaning on the classically finished white mantle of his electric fireplace. He likes to stare into the patented, flame-like effect while he warms his bones after a march on the moors.
“I need to find a way to add heat and/or ambiance into my quarters,” the Chief Inspector gasps. As he speaks, he is comforted by 400 square feet of soothing warmth radiating from logs that appear incredibly real. The detective’s private study always has a regal air about it. His electric, indoor, transitional fireplace sets the tone with its touch-responsive, thermostat control technology. Everything falls into place, like clues leading to a solution. Great minds think best when their surroundings exceed their expectations.
“Look no further, Inspector, your answer is right here!” Our hero nonchalantly points the stem of his pipe at the fireplace that glows flickering with enchanting flame effects. “I have on-demand heat, or, just a pleasant glow that is considered romantic for lovers, such as yourself and Mrs. Inspector. It is also an aid to solitary, stoic contemplation by bachelors, such as myself. It’s a Dimplex!”
The detective raps the bowl of his pipe against the mantle with a hearty knock.