I live in a tree house because the arctic ice is melting and one day the waters will rise so much that my real home will be swamped. On the plus side, I will then have a sea view and the sound of the waves to soothe me to sleep.
I have furnished it with inflatable furniture in case my treehouse should leak, plus a water bed which is probably a bit superfluous.
The walls, floor and ceiling are all glass to create an inside out fish tank (or a right side out people tank) so that the marine life can watch me as I watch them. I have also equipped it with plenty of empty bottles that I can use to send messages to my fellow strandees, perhaps those on top of Table Mountain or the Himalayas.
My tree house has a style you might call pessimistic, but then they said the same about Noah and his Ark. Or perhaps Jonah might be a better comparison, depending on how hungry the whales become.
My tree house looks like something dreamt up on George Clarke’s Amazing Spaces. Or Jaques Cousteau’s dream home, at least it will do once the coast arrives at my door.
People say this about me: ‘Mr Parrot is off with the fairies again’ and: ‘People in glass treehouses shouldn’t… they really shouldn’t’. Then they scratch their heads and look wistfully at the trees in their own gardens.