Below this, my bedside table is a work of art in the style of Tracey Emin’s unmade bed. The clutter is contained within the small area, and I know where everything is. It’s functional and how I like it. A biography of Agatha Christie, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte, a couple of poetry collections and a fantasy/horror novel make a tower of books topped with a notebook, a journal and a box of tissues. It never looks balanced or neat. Hand cream, an assortment of pens, a bookmark made by a child and another with ‘Desiderata’ on it, a straw coaster, plastic water bottle and just enough room for my phone which I rely on for an alarm. Don’t mention the dust.
Half a dozen perfumes, mainly Christian Dior are grouped together on an internal shelf. I have no sense of smell anymore, but I remember my favourites and still use them. Also on the shelf is a small torch, just in case. A jewellery box which belonged to my late mother and contains some of her things, special to me, takes up the rest of the shelf.
I keep my glasses in the drawer, with several spare pairs, a few charging cables for various devices and an iPod Shuffle music thingy full of Moody Blues albums which I take on holidays.
Beneath the drawer is an open space where keepsakes and bits and pieces are safe in a perfectly fitting box.
I would love a tidy, minimalistic bedside table. It will never be, not in my busy house.
My Haiku,
I do not lose things
They’re on my bedside table
With everything else.
It’s only some keys,
They will be under something
Not exactly lost.
A crumpled tissue,
Used for cleaning my glasses
Had covered them up.
PMW 2025
Thanks for reading, Pam x
