As I mentioned in an earlier post, I find myself living without a table. As odd as that is – standing for meals, hunched over to write blog posts and the back aches that ensue — what’s even odder is the Table Envy that manifests. I find myself peeping into strangers’ houses and wanting to join them, wanting to break bread with them, wanting to sit the @#$!! down. Look at the guy in the photo below – seems like he’d be a nice friend. And he has a table. Now I see tables everywhere. I guess cuz I googled them. Even charity shops have tables.

My British pal and former colleague, John Laird, warned me of the lasagna sandwiches when he heard I was moving to The British Isles. He was joking. Or so I had thought. Look at the first item under “Childrens Snacks.” A bit “ew,” innit though?

When I was growing up, we had a table. When I moved out on my own to Albany, NY, there was a table.  Lived in Massachusetts for a bit – complete with table. Then the big move to The Big Apple and you KNOW I had a table. I mean it was New York City, for crying out loud! Relocation to Rome, Italy brought una tavola in my life. In fact, in each of the many places I lived in the Eternal City, there was a table.

And now I’ve moved to England. And there is no table. Fantastic apartment, recently renovated. Just no table. No kitchen table. No desk either. Not even a living room table.

I guess I need to realize that “this is not Buckingham Palace” as my roommate – the owner of the apartment laughingly reminded me when I asked about a table.  Tom is a completely lovely guy in every other way except for his stand on tables.

The thing about having a table is that it makes eating meals easier. It makes reading and studying and working more amenable.

Here is a photo of me working earlier today.

As you can see, the counter is quite ample and I would be tempted to use it as a table.

But there are no chairs either.

More soon…