In The Guardian at the weekend - at least I think it's the weekend, the damn thing always takes me days to get through - they publish this half page filler piece called "My Writing Desk" or possibly "My Writing Room". I forget which, but you get the picture. It's basically a picture of a writer's desk and inevitably it's always some huge hulking beast of a mahogany thing with a soft leather top.

Sometimes they're neat and tidy, sometimes they're a royal mess of a thing, but they are always big and are surrounded by special things that the writer may look at for inspiration. So I thought it would be fun to take a picture of my writing desk, which as you'll see is neither large nor inlaid with leather. Luckily though, it does the same job as those big fuckers - it lets me write.

The great thing about my desk is that on a daily basis, it's never the same. It's always in the same place (facing the wall so that I can't look out of the window) but tomorrow, discounting the iBook and the Dalek mug, it's highly unlikely that any of this stuff will still be there, and I like that. A better picture would probably be the almighty mess of things behind me where I clear the desk and stack them on the floor, the bookshelf, the fridge and so on, but that would reveal me to be more messy than I really am.

Honest.

I need to finish Burn 13 tonight but I'm more in the mood for finishing off a short story, so it might turn out to be a long one...