Love and Liberty

My desk isn’t a desk. Technically, it’s a heavy slab of wood propped on a stand at one end and screwed into the shelves covering one wall at the other. But, functionally, for about fifteen years it’s been functionally identical to a desk, so I forget the technical differences.

Until I sat down this morning, switched on my computer, and the screw on my side snapped, causing the slab of wood to pivot on its diagonal axis towards me. Now, we have a small flat and a lot of stuff, so there are (were) piles of books and papers everywhere on my desk that my keyboard, screen and mouse pads aren’t. Most excitingly, the whole alcove in the shelving into which my desk was bolted was neatly packed with reference books to get the maximum use out of the space – a space about 80cm by 55cm by 30cm. You can make your own estimates of just how many books that enabled me to pack into the space (it’s difficult to count them now they’re randomly slung across almost the entire floor). It’s a very practical arrangement.

Well, it was, until the entire weight of all of them came down in an instant on my left thigh, while all the more randomly spaced contents of my desk (which I was suddenly reminded wasn’t a desk) slithered towards me. Fortunately for me, if not for Richard, my beloved was just about to leave for work. Until then. So when my very manly shriek reached him and as I tried to hold the entire weight with both hands and one thigh, he came to help. It took him very slightly less than twenty minutes to exhume me.

My left leg and both wrists are really quite painful. But from your point of view, dear reader, as I type a placeholder on a borrowed computer, this is to say that – as I have nowhere to put my computer right now, with a large slab of wood stood upright against one wall – I may not be posting (or emailing, or other such activities) quite as much as planned.

Blogging will be light, though my desk isn’t. Because my desk is not a desk.