A very quick blog today because I am surrounded by empty cardboard boxes that are supposed to be full cardboard boxes by the end of the day. We are finally moving into our new house this week, which is very exciting, but the most exciting thing of all is that I will finally have my very own room in which to write.
The Studio, as my husband jokingly refers to it and as I quite seriously have named it, has one entire wall of shelves to hold all of my books. It has a view of the garden. With two doors that open to the outside so I can sit on my very own porch with a hot cup of tea and a head full of ideas (there are, of course no children in this part of the fantasy).
But in all seriousness I feel so blessed to have this room. At the moment I write in the dining room, right next to the kitchen, and it is one of the main thoroughfares through the house. My desk gets lovingly rearranged by my children every morning. It is neither peaceful, nor tranquil nor at all inspiring – the predominant colour scheme is beige and oh, how I do not love beige.
My new room, on the other hand, has a space for a desk and also a comfy chair to curl up in and read. It has a wall of fabulous Florence Broadhurst wallpaper. I’m even going to reclaim my piano from the playroom and dust off my music books. Oh, and of course I’m going to write too, when I’m not too busy just sitting and admiring my room!