Every six months or so, until about the age of fifteen, I used to rearrange the furniture in my room.
Would the bed be better against the long wall or the short? Or against no wall at all in the middle of the room? Should the desk look out of the window or be at right angles to it? Does the sheep’s skull look more spooky in the fire grate with a light behind it or on a shelf with a black sugar paper background?
Invariably, the new arrangement contained some irritating feature, such as having to climb over the hi-fi to get at the sock drawer.
After a few days, I’d usually have to admit defeat and put things back more or less the way they were before.
I think there might be a metaphor in this somewhere but it’s trapped in the sock drawer.
5 July 2006