Diva Tendancies

Mr. Jules has an office that is big enough to hold a snooker table – it does.  Sometimes he spreads architectural plans all over his snooker table to look like he’s busy and a player , but most of the time it sits waiting for him to hit a few balls which he does when he gets good news or he’s trying to work out a problem.

My office is 3 metres by 1.5 metres - smaller than my mate Ian’s cell.  I even have a prisoner’s window, high up, minimal light.  I spend 5-6 hours of my day in this tiny office while the rest of the house is bathed in sunlight.  I am in serious risk of becoming a mole.  So Sunday morning I had a melt down.  Don’t ask me why this particular last Sunday I had a melt down but I woke up and said right that’s it.  I ranted and I raved, blamed Mr. Jules, the architect, myself, the dog.  (Before anyone starts to comment on how selfish I am, I would like to point out that the last time I had a melt down was Christmas Eve 1997 when the Christmas tree caught fire along with half the house and the local pompier s (firemen), stomping through the house in their huge boots with their hoses, thought it very amusing.

I now have a proper office.  Fit for a writer in the middle of the house – central command position - bathed in sunlight.  I also have a settee (two in fact) to do that all important lying, reading, sleeping bit of being a writer.

This morning I awoke and scurried over to my office, enchanted and eager to work.  Alas today is the start of the summer hols and our last week at home before we take off.  Instead of writing I took the dog to the doggie toilettage for her radical chav-look summer buzz cut, and she mustered every last ounce of remaining youth and scarpered.  And this is a dog that is officially 75% blind.  She got one wiff of doggie shampoo and panicked.  I had to run around the industrial zone of Gland like an eejitt with my brain (the majorly cynical part) saying I bet J.K. Rowling doesn’t have a dog like Molly.

 Later when I had to take Sophie-G to have the rubbers changed on her braces, when all I wanted to do was write, I didn’t think of Lauren Weisberger in her New York writer’s loft (Devil Wears Prada), well at least I tried not to, I thought very hard about how lovely Sophie’s teeth will be when she is older.

I came home and cooked lunch for Ollie and AGAIN tried hard not think of Lauren W. and her spotless kitchen where all she makes is coffee.

My inner Diva is taking over.

 Copyright Jules Ritter June 2008