My desk is massive. It’s old, sturdy, and made of dark wood. If I ever decide to move house then I will probably have to remove part of the wall to get it out. To my left is my Novatech PC, purring away contentedly. Surrounding it are two empty cans of Spar diet american cola, a Jack Daniels bottle holder, and a selection of rubbish including a duster, napkins, and a variety of cables.
Moving to my right you will see my Acer 19″ monitor with the small ceramic cat that I got for Christmas, stuck on the stand. Bypass the furry hairbrush (Mine), paracetamol, unopened letters and receipts, and you will find my still sealed Shaun of The Dead canvas that I still haven’t hung on the wall.
Down my right-hand side is a carefully selected pile of shit. Not poo-poo shit, but desk shit. You know, the stuff that you use once and leave it there for four months. The shit is more painkillers, a lynx can, some hair ties, an unopened plaster, a messy desk tidy (oh, the irony), half a pack of Soothers, Tipp-ex, nail clippers, hand lotion and yet another can of Spar diet american cola.
My mouse is the only thing that is always left free of clutter. It rests upon a mouse-mat, adorned with a painting of Enid from Ghost World. On the wall behind the monitor is wall shit, mainly consisting of a snapped bank card, movie tickets, and gig tickets – Radiohead and Dave Gorman.
Believe it or not, this is only around 80% of the shit on my desk. Even though I said its big (easy, ladies), it’s filled to the brim with junk. But I like it this way, it’s homely.