The early Bookwitch worked at the kitchen table. It had something to do with boiling eggs. Today, this ex-office of mine has rolled into the front room. In our previous house that would have made sense, as it was officially a dining room. Here, however, it is suddenly sharing with sofas and coffee tables (I am beginning to feel like the Grandmother, who had a table fixation), and is quite convenient for the television.
We took the legs off it yesterday and then I rolled it into its ‘new’ room. (It’s a round table. At least it is if the leaves are not in.) We could have carried it, legs and all, had I not spent Friday blocking the doorway with tins of tomato soup and espresso pods and spare spices.
The ice cube is hopefully soon to be no more, and while this old and decrepit glass box is being demolished and hopefully replaced with a really nice and convenient new room, our eating will happen in the front room (where anyone can see us…).
I used a couple of hopefullys there, as I am worried about jinxing and karma and stuff.
Anyway, it’s just the eating. The Bookwitching takes place in my proper desky corner at the other end of the house. If I want to boil eggs I go to the kitchen, and as I wait I will go and sit in the ice cube… hang on, I can’t. OK, I’ll fry my eggs from now on.
Here’s to the ice cube’s successor! If it’s nice enough I could always move my office again!
Oops, wrong impression…
The Occasional Bookwitch 