So, from having a lovely desk in a freezing cold flat, we bought a house (after several months back at home with my parents), and we had babies. I put my desk in the second bedroom, amongst all the boxes that never seemed to get unpacked from the move, but I didn't write for months, possibly years. I missed writing, but not that much - certainly not as much as I would miss it now. I suppose I was just too busy changing nappies.
And then, finally, I ended up in my beautiful study, with grass green walls, 2 pictures of flowers on the walls, shelves, books, a three-drawer filing cabinet and - best of all - my large beech corner desk from Ikea. I loved decorating it; I loved buying all the accessories like bins and an in-tray!
I hide away in there, I close the door and waste time on the Internet and play Sudoku... But inbetween that, I write reasonably prolifically. More prolific since I gave up a job in a library, working Monday-Friday, and became a fitness instructor. I now have the ultimate luxury of at least 2 clear days every week just for writing! I put on music - still Aerosmith and Meat Loaf, but also a lot of new music, and without having to change it around every 45 minutes.
I'm now practising writing on my lap. I'm writing this on my lap whilst also watching Simon Schama on the Hay Sessions which I recorded. It's warmer down here in the living room. It's lighter. It's closer to the kitchen. I'll be able to interact with my kids more; although they might not like that when I ban endless repeats of I'm in the Band. I'll also get a lot more distracted by the housework, mostly because I'll be able to see it needs doing.
But, I guess, that's the point of this post and the previous one: I adapt, people adapt, life adapts around us.