Finally broke the news to the gritlets. I have been keeping it hidden for some time; pretending. But it exploded out of me under repeated questioning.
No! You are not getting your reading room back!
The news was hard to break and hard to take. Finger pointings, head clutchings, fist-on-table hammerings followed a moment of terrible silence.
But it is true. The bedroom-turned-reading-room is not coming back. Not at least, in the immediate future. It is turned-mama's-workshop for her notebookery project. And, Tiger, it is the same as you need. A room of my own. Mine, mine, mine. Stop me doing what I do in there and terrible things will happen. What I am feeling right now is the same as you, Squirrel, when you grasp that lump of clay in your hands with your vision in your head and your impulse in your heart and Shark unwisely suggests you make a fish out of it.
Enough said. I am locking myself in here all day and not coming out. Now get your own lunch.
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