Well, if you haven`t already guessed, the house is my dolls house!
It`s one of the few childhood toys that I still have and treasure.
I can remember the Christmas that it was given to me, (no, I`m not going to say how old I was at the time!) I spent all day playing with it, setting the table with the miniscule pink plastic cups, saucers, plates, knives and forks no bigger than ¼ inch (sorry aren`t into metric! I`m English), putting things into and out of the various cupboards and drawers in the furniture, putting the dolls in it to bed, moving the furniture round, winding the handle of the wringer on the tiny washing machine. I can remember too the excitement of saving up to buy something else to go in the house, the toy shop which had such a choice that it was hard to decide what to get.
It also brings back a memory of my uncle who made it for me, which is another reason I treasure it, to think that it was made especially for me.
I spent hours with that dolls house, contented happy hours, not just on that Christmas day but for weeks and years afterwards. I suppose in a way, it was an educational toy, in that I copied what went on in the home and relayed it into play in the dolls house. Wonder if that says anything about my contentment with being at home on my own now-a-days?