I spent this morning in IKEA choosing furniture (or having it chosen) for my teenage daughter's bedroom. I spent this afternoon putting up a curtain rail in the same bedroom (yes, it took that long). I'll probably spend tomorrow assembling aformentioned flat-pack furniture. This is no life for a poet!
I remember reading that when WS Graham moved house in Cornwall, he left in only the clothes he stood up in and walked to the the new house. Sounds like a dream of freedom and simplicity. I hate to say it, but I'm more like Philip Larkin who wondered what he might have achieved if he hadn't written his poetry at the end of long working days.