Reclaiming my space

'That's it,' I said. 'I've had enough!'

'PMT?' said Mrs Miggins.
'Quite possibly,' I said, 'but that has little bearing on my task of today which will be to reclaim my writing room.'

Now, I know we've been unfortunate to suffer 2 chicken injuries this month, thus necessitating the conversion of a goodly portion of my writing room into a hen hospital, but when I went to take Miggo her breakfast this morning and discovered she'd changed the curtains for Roman blinds, moved the piano and re-alphabetised my collection of playscripts according to title rather than playwright, I decided enough was enough.

'We collected the rabbit hutch from Jane yesterday,' I said. 'So you and Pumphrey will have a new house all to yourselves. This will allow your feathers to return to their former glory, safe from the sneaky beaks of Poo and Slocombe.'
'I ain't no bunny,' said Miggins, huffily.
'I'm not a rabbit,' I corrected.
'I can see that,' said Miggins, 'besides, I like it in here, especially now I've swapped the curtains for Roman blinds. They're far more chic, don't you think?'

I inform Mrs Miggins I care little for chic and she replies that looking at me she isn't surprised. So I get her in a death grip, I mean, pick her up and deposit her outside in the North Wing of Cluckinghen Palace, on her own because Pumphrey is laying her egg and not available for companionable pottering.

And then I set to reclaiming MY SPACE.

I've missed not having my space for the last three weeks or so. It's made me realise how lucky I am to actually have a space of my own. I've had to write in the kitchen and the living room both of which have unnecessary distractions, namely cake and biscuit in the kitchen and 'The Biggest Loser' in the living room. Also, if I write in the living room I have to sit with the laptop on my lap (I know, I know, that's why it's called a laptop, but this arrangement makes one slump appallingly and if I happen to be wearing my woolly rug, then I have to fight to keep Tybalt off my lap as well, because he loves my woolly rug, it's nice for padding on.) And although the kitchen has a table, it is a pedestal table and I have the very bad habit of sitting at it with my toes bent at awkward angles up the pedestal feet, which I realise has probably contributed to my Achilles tendon injury.

So I spent the first post-swim hour this morning hoovering, polishing, sweeping and removing all chicken related accoutrements from my writing room. It made me happy although I suspect I shall still be finding odd wisps of hay and one or two nibbles of layers pellets here and there for a few more days to come.

Have you see 'The Biggest Loser,' by the way. It has, over the last 4 weeks, become my afternoon TV treat, as long as I've completed at least 2,000 words of Indigo Antfarm. It is on every day between 4 and 5 which is good because it is about that time of day I start flagging, and need a spaced out moment before gaining second wind to get dinner ready and prepare for an evening of witty conversation with Andy. It's a competion between overweight people who are trained to within an inch of their lives with the aim of losing as much weight as possible. From the original 16 who started, there are now 9 left. Fridays are especially exciting because Friday is 'weigh-in' day.

The trainers are called Richard and Angie. Richard is good-humoured and believes in lots of praise. Angie comes from the school of what she calls 'tough love' which involves getting as close to the contestants as possible as shouting at them, telling them how useless they are. It is my belief she is trying to murder them all one by one. Angie is a terrifying person.

The contestants are a very mixed bag. Some I like, some I don't. The one who is annoying me particularly at the moment is called Jamie. He is a big lad, and I mean big, starting the competition at pushing 27 stones. But he is also the BIGGEST whinger EVER! He's had so-called injury after injury, the latest being a sprained ankle which, on his return from a hospital visit, he was plainly disappointed that it wasn't actually broken. Any excuse and he'll use it, putting on a 'poor little me' face to get sympathy when I suspect most of the other contestants want to push his head in a puddle and tell him to shut up and get on with it. He is like all the kids I taught who could never accept responsibility for their lack of effort and their behaviour. It was always someone else's fault if coursework wasn't done, they had no pen with which to write or some other kid's face connected with their fist.

And then there's Mark, who is constantly lambasted by the others for being motivated, focused, honest and successful. Accusations of bossiness, showing off and not letting others win the various challenges that are set fly his way. I don't see these faults in him myself. He knows this competition is a golden opportunity for him to lose weight and he is going to make the most of that opportunity. Nothing wrong with that. I know who I want to win the competition.

But listen to me. 'I haven't done as much writing as I wanted to do these last three weeks,' I said to Andy the other day. 'Because the hens have been in my writing room.' Pathetic. If I was motivated to write, I'd have done so sitting up a pole in a force ten gale, wouldn't I? If you want something enough, then nothing will get in your way.

I've set myself a target. 'Indigo Antfarm, Violet and Blue' will be complete by the end of August. Every day I shall add another 2,000 words. If I want to carry on being a writer I need to also work part-time so will study every day and get a qualification in aromatherapy so I can set up my business within the next year.

Just do it, I say to myself. Life is not a practice run at something bigger to come. No excuses. Don't go to heaven being the biggest loser.