Too, too many to number.

But, [eases aching back], I remember them all well.

You know. You've probably been there. Office-stuff supermarket hell; cheap furniture in a flat-pack-box world. Ah. You go in there full-of-funky-happy-office-dreams: I dreamt of ergonomic, beautifully-crafted, fully-supported, executive in an Eddy Izzard kind of way, furniture....

And what did I get?

A swivel chair at what? No! £50? You gotta be joking? Seriously?

[eases her back some more]

They were.

And I wonder what is going to do for me?

Monitor or chair? Monitor or chair? Monitor or chair?

You see. At work standards apply. Even if they are not applied.

At home, it's let's gather together all our worst furniture (hey, yellow cast-off kiddie furniture too) sagging bookcases, and seriously bizarre collection of cables and defunkt computer bits and shoe-horn it into the room that would be happier being a bedroom, and, ta da! Office!

So.

We skipped £50 chair at the weekend. And am now sitting writing this with replacement office chair: er, that'll be a press-ganged dining room chair which has a certain austere, straight-backed, wooden charm; and none of that soft, ergonomic, buffed leather thing going on at all...

Dream on, gal...

[Oh, my back]