Thursday, June 30, 2005

The desk. 

It was made in the 1940s in Denmark.

It has rounded corners - almost as rounded as an old bathtub - and its timber glows with the kind of lustrous warmth typical of early 20th century Scandinavian furniture. It's not art deco, it is more arts and crafts, I guess.

I found it in a second-hand shop. I had been looking for a desk for quite some time, but new ones are generally badly made. And expensive.

It was delivered yesterday. I was afraid it would not fit in the doorway. It's no heavier than a small ship. Everything about it is large, right down to the big, bright chrome keys that lock the front cupboard doors.

The desk also has three concealed, but quite spacious, cupboards in the back - that is, on the opposite side to which you sit. I stored about fifty books in the back cupboards - books I rarely read - and with great effort (because the desk was now even heavier) - I slowly, Sisyphus-like, moved the desk back against the wall. Unlike the rock, it stayed there, thank goodness.

I'll have fun with the children. 'Hey, kids - there are fifty books in this desk. See if you can find 'em!'

is it time for a nap yet? i think so

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