I’ve lived at the castle for almost four years now, and in all that time my bed’s been in exactly the same place. My view from it has remained the same, too, except for the subtle changes brought by the seasons.
Yesterday I moved my bed. It’s not a radical shift but I fancied a change, and it’s made the desk in my room much more accessible.
Zoë helped me move things round. When I first suggested it, she looked at me quizzically and said, “You’ll end up with a different view.” I think this was code for, “You might not be able to see the lamp-post.”
But I wouldn’t have been so foolish as to suggest a bed-move had I not first checked out the lines of sight to my precious streetlight.
I’m lying in bed now, with Cartoon Star grinning at me from the end of the bed and the lamp-post’s big orange head over to my right.
“Cartoon star you’re in charge of guarding the socks.”
“Lamp-post, are you reading over my shoulder?”
I’ve no idea if I’ll keep my bedroom arranged this way. But what seems certain is that whatever interior design decisions I make, my tics’ strange relationship with the world outside my window is set to continue.