It might be small but it be mighty - the rise of the tiniest room | Nicola Adam column
As we tiptoe, somewhat painfully, and with more setbacks than a TV drama series, out of lockdown (sort of) I’ve suddenly realised I’ve spent the best part of six months in the smallest room of my house (not the loo).
This ‘study’ as I grandly call it, otherwise known as bedroom number three or more commonly ‘junk central’ or ‘where stuff goes to die’ is now where I spent all of my working day, some of my working night and part of my working weekend.
From this room, which boasts piles of outdated tech, my notepad collection, piles of books, mouldering mugs and for some reason - a ladder - I get pages done and sent for 15 newspapers each week, write copy, spend hours on the phone and video calls and talk to my colleagues.
Here I write my novels in the evenings, update my blog and scroll aimlessly plus I stare out of the window at the neighbours.
I eat breakfast, I eat lunch and I sometimes eat tea here. I spill coffee.
On Sundays, with the BBC still on its lockdown ‘one presenter in the studio at one time’ rule, I co-present a four hour radio show from here, conducting two, three and even four-way interviews from the comfort (well the chair is rock hard, but) of my own small home.
It works, just about, though without eye contact Gemma (Ray) and I frequently talk over each other which is probably somewhat baffling to the listeners sitting at home, thinking we are together in the studio enjoying our usual banter.
Last week a picture fell off the wall mid-show and another time the window-cleaner appeared at the window with a cheery hello as I chatted, wholly unaware he was broadcasting to Lancashire.
But it’s safe to say that this room has finally proved its worth.
After years of cruel abandonment, it has now overtaken another ambitious room in usefulness.
The dining room may be the other half’s office, library and my gym, as well as home for new bikes and wet washing plus have garden access.
But it has one failing.
It’s south-facing and as I smugly sit in a nice, north-facing aspect and window breeze, the other half is broiled.