This is the'ancient'Pink Lloyd Loom chair that Her Ladyship sits on hour after hour in the shed as she taps away at her laptop.
I must admit that I find her use of the word 'ancient' when she describes me, as a little insulting. I may be between 60 to 80 years old, but I'd hardly call that 'ancient'. Cheek. I think I'm rather beautiful and I know she loves me to bits. After all, she did defend me when Rob was asking how a £27 chair she'd found on Ebay - that's me, I suppose - happened to cost nearly £80 to deliver it to Jersey. Personally, I can't see what his problem is and I doubt she could either by the way she was smiling at me as she spoke to him.
She sits here with that grumpy looking dog next to her and I can just tell by the way he looks at me through those narrowed eyes that he'd rather sit on me than the plastic white chair she covers with a towel for him.
She's a little later than usual today, but I heard her mumble something about staying up until nearly 4am to watch the two final episodes of The Real Housewives of New Jersey, whatever that may be. She's quieter than normal too, so maybe I won't hear her reading out odd extracts of pages she's been writing, or mumbling to herself.
There she goes, off to make another cup of tea, I suppose, and thankfully she's taking that miserable looking dog with her.