A person’s workstation can be quite revealing. Our faithful contributors closed all incriminating tabs and shared theirs for your pleasure.
I spend a lot of time in my car; it’s a fully functioning mobile workplace. I often have long periods of time to kill in between meetings or gigs, so I can be found parked up in a car park emailing, writing, listening to audiobooks/podcasts or napping.
My car always contains snacks, water, makeup, makeup remover, baby wipes, a napping cape (visible), a flip chart, a yoga mat (for emergency sunbathing/picnics), notebooks, reference books, coffee, Lego, loads of marker pens, multiple ID badges for my various secret identities and my lucky gloves. I am wearing a cagoule in this pic; what of it?
I’m currently working here, which I’m sure we can all agree looks like a calm, serene environment, highly conducive to productivity.
FULL UNICORN. To combat the male-dominated world of engineering academia.
Free tonic, a lovely thank you card and a strip mug! And a brew.
My kitchen. This is as tidy as it gets. Yep there’s clutter (note the stray plastic ice cream) and tons of small person equipment taking up space. But there aren’t any cornflakes scattered across the floor, fromage frais splatters or half-eaten Babybels left on my laptop. Tomorrow’s a non-nursery day. I’m not sending a pic.
This is my ‘organised chaos’. I don’t know what this says about my mind, but I am known for my ridiculous desk (which also has four pairs of ’emergency shoes’ under it) I am trying to make post happen again, so I keep postcards to send to people, alongside my miscellaneous geekery.
I’m working in the kitchen in my pyjamas. I have a streaming cold. There’s an email from my husband (who’s working upstairs today) suggesting we go for a walk at lunch. I have four hours’ work to do in three hours. It’ll be fine. *sneezes explosively, causing the cat to run away*
This happens every afternoon. Thankfully she soon goes back to monitoring the window view for bird news. We moved to this house a few months ago and I love having my own study, as my previous desk was squeezed into a corner of the bedroom. The squidgy, sick-yellow wallpaper needs some work though. (Note ‘artfully placed’* Scandinavian jazz promo CD – I get sent a steady stream of these.
*Sliding across the desk, soon to fall off.)
I’m in my classroom just finishing off my year 11 marking.
I do have a proper spot in the kitchen but quite a lot of the time is like this.
Mine’s at the back of the front room because the upstairs office I used to use was so cold I had to wear gloves to type. I’ve just treated myself to one of those fancy adjustable stand-up desktops, which is amazing.
My desk has all the essentials of a proper artiste: baked goods, a yoyo, some Plasticine and approximately 15,000 pencils.
Vicky Lindsay Warburton
Bad neck equals strange DIY elevated set up. Bad feet equals rolling pin on floor. I’m in our attic bedroom.
This is the workstation of someone whose partner had to bring her dinner on the job the other evening because she literally didn’t even have time to walk downstairs. Sad times. And yes I downed a whole tin of olives. Sue me.
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