Humbrol Beginnings
On the short walk between my house and the corner shop there is a downstairs bay window of a house that always catches my eye. Instead of a widescreen telly or a pile of kids’ toys stuffed into a corner there’s a simple desk, a telephone and a green craft project cutting board. Occasionally on this board there’s a plastic model kit of a car or something being constructed.
I’ve never seen who uses this desk, but it’s hugely appealing to me because of its simplicity. I like to imagine the circumstances where you could sit at a desk, just making Airfix cars while you wait for a very important phone call. Perhaps the owner is a semi-retired professional model maker and tests out the new products. “The new Ferrari 458 is a disgrace! The sprues are huge and the runners indistinguishable from the parts. Good Day.” Perhaps he’s like Jean Reno in Nikita or Harvey Keitel in Pulp Fiction: When an underworld murder goes wrong he gets a single call and arranges clean up of the scene with a squeezy bottle and a few J-Cloths. Or a spy. Maybe he’s a spy, deeply embedded in an Oxford college, leaving clues in the Oxford Mail Suduko grids. The most likely suggestion so far has been, disappointingly, an operator for The Samaritans.
I should aspire to this simplified workspace so I can concentrate on what I do, rather than what I could do.
