Sy's desk for his writing is set up in the sitting room. It really couldn't be in a worse place. Apart from the bathroom maybe-
There was a time this actually worked quite well.
Darling Daughter and me would set off at 8.30 in the morning and not be back until 4.30 in the afternoon.
Trouble now, is that DD is on 'revision leave' or 'skiving' or 'don't give a flying fart about my exams, so i'll stay at home' time....which means she's coming and going all hours of the day, and i've started coming home between jobs.
All this coming and going is not good for the concentration.
The Writer made this perfectly clear to us last week, when DD and i had obviously had the telly on a bit too loud, or talked to each other a bit too loudly.
'Can't work here anymore, Sprouty. Just can't concentrate. Too much noise and coming and going. I need peace and quiet.'
He's forgotton that i've given up half of my sitting room for his desk, and all my wall space for the bookshelves. Booting him and his bloody laptop up to the top of the garden seems like a really good idea at the moment.
But i can feel myself crumbling.
'Well......there is one place....'
I'm pissed off with myself as soon as i've said this. No going back, you see.
'You can have my dressing table in the bedroom'.
There. The last fucking bastion.
So, i now have a lovely area about a foot square for all my girlie things.
Sy has my dressing table, with some of his bits and pieces from his downstairs desk.
Oh, didn't i say? He still has that desk going....if i want to go to bed, he comes downstairs and perches himself back where he started.
In the daytime when i come home, i find DD sat crosslegged on the settee, fingers in her ears, to try and block out the horrific thundering that echoes down through the floorboards-'Jesus Mum, does he really have to knock the crap out of that keyboard!?'
It would appear so.
I don't have my own little place anymore. Weirdly, the dressing table was it. Not much, but mine, and now i've given it up for the greater good.
But i'm a bit miserable about it.
A man writing in my bedroom as well as every other room.
I haven't quite got to the point where i strap him to the bed and smash his ankles. But that's only because i need to have Kathy Bates at my side to make sure i do it right.
Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx
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