I’m guessing Son’s had it with working in wardrobes.
Personally I liked – or rather, I preferred – to have my [holiday] desk in a wardrobe than not to have one at all. Although I will admit to moving to the dining table more these days, so maybe my wardrobe days are over.
When it came to serious writing some months ago, Son clearly didn’t want to sit tight, so to speak, so he sourced a leftover, cobwebby desk and carried into a ‘free’ space. I suspect he just wanted to sit next to the cardboard fish on the wall. Not everyone has them.
After all, if he was that fond of ex-wardrobes, he could have stayed at home and sat in his own closet office.
And now, he’s finally some place where he can build a proper workspace, even if it doesn’t look so promising yet.
Maybe I should get him a fish.
The Occasional Bookwitch 