I feel like a fraudulent Michelangelo as I gaze at my excessively boring ceiling. Inspiration does not strike and as the laptop sears my ovaries, I contemplate sacrificing temporary physical relief to the Gods of diligent professionalism. The right side of my brain grapples with angles of inclination, heat displacement and degree of wrist rotation required for optimal function of mind, body and machine when arranged at right angles with the wall. The left side runs through a catalogue of mouldings, colours, mosaic, frescoes and chandeliers.
My use of temporary is tragically prophetic. I'll need a prescription from the German. Wonder where the pole dancing domestic goddess stashes the high grade pixie dust.............
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