Breaking muse

People often ask me, what is the secret of your consistently brilliant blog? Where do you write such dazzling posts? What are the surroundings that inspire you to such dizzy heights of eloquence?

Well, I've taken a deep breath and revealed this candid picture of my blogging room. It is in fact the Marilyn Monroe Memorial Library in the East Wing, overlooking the Boating Lake.

It may look quiet and sedate but unfortunately my creative endeavours have often been interrupted by disturbing and gruesome tragedies.

My half-sister Sophie, in a state of hopeless depression after the death of her beloved chihuahua, jumped from the window and was killed instantly as she hit the granite flagstones by the statue of Oscar Wilde.

Uncle Bernard, the incorrigible womaniser, was seriously injured when the massive light fitting fell from the ceiling and fractured his skull. He was in a coma for seven weeks, which came as a great relief to the 15 women he was actively pursuing.

My cherubic niece Tiffany was overcome by fumes from the fresh varnish on the writing desk and was found in a deranged state by the housekeeper. She had torn hundreds of pages out of my priceless first editions.

Still, never mind these depressing memories. What of the creative secrets hidden in this innocent-looking room?

In a special compartment under the floorboards there's a stash of banknotes to persuade rival bloggers to abandon their pointless outpourings. If that doesn't work, there's also a shotgun and a phial of arsenic.

In the writing desk drawer are the computer codes that lace my posts with subliminal messages compelling visitors to keep reading. Mostly they refer to sex, chocolate cake and designer dresses.

But that's enough of my fearless candour. I shall now lock the door, draw the curtains and wait for the Muse to let rip. If she's gone off in a huff, I'll just have to paint my nails and finish off the marzipan cupcakes.

With thanks to Catalog Living