I think it’s important to have a favourite chair.
Not like life-and-death important, but I suppose what I’m getting at is it’s important to be comfortable. To have a place that’s inviolably yours, where you can kick your shoes off, throw your bra (or indeed, anyone else’s) across the room, and just switch off all your muscles.
My chair – a gift from Aimée’s parents, in brown leather and ideally suited to my posterior – has large square armrests, which are the perfect size to accommodate three books, two remote controls, a chapstick and a laptop. Pretty much, I can run my whole life from this chair.
Don’t get me wrong, I get up now and again. All my dogs have bladders, as do I, and the garden won’t fix itself. Which is a shame.
Still, when I’ve spent the day clipping, pulling and digging at the lawn, it’s nice to have my chair to fall into.