Posted on Saturday 2nd September 2006 at 20:00
Well, if you are reading this now it means either that you've just stumbled across this site for the first time, in which case welcome, or you have come back since reading my first entry, in which case you are either very brave or have a high boredom threshold. Either way I'm not complaining as it makes me go all warm and fuzzy to think of people actually reading and enjoying what I write enough to return.

I thought tonight I'd help set the scene for the rest of the blog by doing what all good writers do and throw in a little description. Apparently it helps kick start the imagination, so hear goes. I'm seated in an executive leather desk chair. The chair has seen better days and is looking less and less like it once sported an executive price tag. The desk is made of frosted glass and steel and is of the sort of design that has come into fashion in recent years for homes and offices alike. On the desk, which id beginning to show signs of needing a good polish are strewn a cluster of random objects, placed there haphazardly in an absent minded fashion over a period of several weeks. Nearest to hand are a roll of cello tape, a mobile, a wireless mouse and a TV remote. Nearby is a digital camera, a few computer CDs collected from a magazine and a greetings card with "Congratulations!" written on the front.

Further away can be seen a note pad with a circle around something that has been jotted down on it and a stack of dusty audio CD cases with an adapter, its wire wrapped round it, placed carefully on top. The stack of CD cases has clearly been knocked by a careless hand at some point and is even now poised over the edge of the desk, waiting for any excuse to over balance and fall, crashing to the floor.

Under the desk is a day bag and a pair of shoes, kicked off and left where the owner was sitting, half hiding the tangle of power and data leads streaming out of the back of the computer. To the side, another desk in disarray, this one made of pine is just visible under the mess of papers, framed photographs and old birthday cards that can never be thrown away. rising out of the chaos, its face pointing straight as the occupier of the chair is a chrome desk fan, bought on a hot day in early summer and even now slowly spinning up to a slow blow as the owner leans over to switch it on. A monthly issue of a word search book, claiming to contain 100 word searches lies shut on the desk with a pen next to it ready. The issue number is 137 and if the date of closure for the offer on the back cover were to be examined it would reveal that the issue is dated December 2001.

Underneath the desk, neatly framed on both sides by two sets of desk draws, not matching, is a wastepaper basket, stuffed with crisp packets and beside it a paper shredder. Tucked just out of view, you can almost make out the edge of a collection of original jazz records, some of them very old at potentially valuable but never valued.

On the walls are a variety of posters and straight ahead, a notice board, covered in layer upon layer of pinned up papers. The posters are of varying age, size and condition and the mixture content the inevitable result of someone who knows they should be covering their walls but doesn't know with what.

The floor is covered in the sort of brown carpet that was the "must have" thing at the beginning of the 80s, although not much of it is visible beneath the mess of bags, packaging, books, newspapers, carrier bags and suitcases that are scattered over almost all parts of the floor. A large suitcase and a rucksack, its contents strewn across the surrounding area are the only remaining signs of a recent foreign holiday, besides the camera on the desk, discarded after its contents had been copied onto the PC. A laptop in its case is stood against a cabinet nearby.

Behind the chair is a pair of oars, propped upright against a wardrobe. They are clearly new and unused and the price tag can still be read. Across the room is a bed on which lies a solitary DVD jewel case, its contents in the DVD player, still on from a previous viewing. Opposite the bed is a stool covered in laundry with a sombrero lying casually on top.

This is the setting from which every word I write to you in the immediate future is composed.

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