I've found another blog I want to read. I followed a link to a profile on BoingBoing and thence to a blog. I love this writer... he seems to manage to contrive a similarly cluttered squalour such as the one I habitually work in. I too have a desk... ok, not a desk really, a coffee table, which is supposed to be the centre of writing operations and instead becomes a heap of things that were useful to me for a couple of minutes and then just got added to the pile.

Without moving I can see teetering piles of books, a box full of buttons, a mobile phone, a jar of hair wax, two glasses, a cup, a bottle of sparkling water, various family photographs, my blood pressure medication, a book on the mystic Edgar Cayce, an apple core, leaflets about the Wellcome Collection and an A to Z pocket edition, vitamin tablets, caster oil with real lavender in it, a candle in a tin, a large notebook, a stuffed doll, papers, an itouch, cables to attach the itouch to the computer... that's just the coffee table. It's no wonder I never get on with my writing.

I've always thought that the message of all the fairy tales was: be careful what you wish for. I often long for a room of my own, with a desk and either paper and pencil or keyboard and no distractions. I try hard not to yearn for it too much in case I find myself locked into just such a room at same point in the future, with no chance of parole.

Mind you the rate I am collecting blogs I read, I shan't have much time for getting into trouble....