House number one was my parents’ house. It’s a nice house, with central heating installed some time in my late teens. I lived there until I was eighteen and bounced back there when I was 23; post-uni, post-Sydney, pre-album.
Why does it matter about the houses? I wish I could tell you, I’m as mystified myself. I can remember my parents selling our house in Marrickville, when I was four. I blamed my twin brothers, as their birth had necessitated the whole move. I was as devastated, twenty years later, when my parents briefly threatened to sell their Katoomba house. I invest a lot of who I am in where I happen to be living at the time.
I was a child in that house and so, perhaps, I will always love house number one the most. With the verandah and the big kitchen, painted yellow. It is always the place of return, for all of us, still possibly the most important key on my keyring. Pretensions at adulthood aside.