Simple things do it for me: fresh air, a bloody good serum, the company of friends when blue, and now a desk that makes sitting down to write a joy. Take a gander – isn’t she a beauty?:
My previous situ was not quite as auspicious as this: the storage shelving unit that I’d turned into a desk was doing my back in as I had to curl ever so slightly so squeeze my feet into the cubby holes. Though hardly of Hardy proportions of hardship, I nonetheless needed a more permanent solution to make working from home tenable.
My list of criteria consisted of something that is solidly-made, not hideous and just the right height for me: I wasn’t expecting my desk to be anywhere near this visually pleasing. It just so happened that I was sitting (very comfortably might I add) at this very desk in a cake shop near my house when I noticed the little tag hanging off to say it was for sale. I’d already noticed the fine legs on her and when I found out she was a restored 1920s number, I was sold.
The ancillary benefit of having bought locally and having not headed to IKEA? The furniture restorer who worked on it nipped over to my house to make sure the journey hadn’t damaged any of the paintwork. Along with her came whispers of local folklore and a key to the people who live around me. It seems to me that a desk that comes with a history and brings stories through the door augurs well for writing a tale or two on it. Here’s hoping…