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Living the High Life…

I grew up in a farming community in the Highlands of Scotland, then brought up my children in a rented council house in an old fishing village just along the coast from Inverness, but I now live with my husband in a tiny one bedroom first-floor flat in an old Victorian-built property in East London. Living in such a small, relatively confined space with no garden, I find I really miss just opening my door and sitting on my herb-scented doorstep with a cup of tea, enjoying the fresh air, feeling the breeze, neither being fully inside or outside.

I wonder sometimes what it must be like to live in an ordinary high-rise tower-block, with no possibility of a garden but perhaps with a tiny balcony space looking down over the rooftops, potentially bringing a little bit of the outside in – would that feel better or worse than where I live now? Would I feel trapped in a concrete prison, or would the soaring height instead bring a feeling of open-ness, especially if I could have a few carefully-chosen terracotta plant-pots filled with flowers and herbs to fill my senses?

I guess I’ll never know, but I pass this particular tower-block and its twin regularly, and often wonder what it must be like to live there… living-the-high-life