Draft autosaved at 19:57

I thought I'd describe my present surroundings. I'm sitting on a fabric spinny computer chair (although unfortunately the poor quality of the fabric makes it feel like I'm sitting on velcro), with my feet appropriately placed on the cold metal spindle. Although it's cold, it gives me comfort, possibly in a quasi-masochistic way (a side that I never knew existed in me, before I entered this over contemplation), but also because the circularity of the metal bar makes it fit snugly into the arches of my feet.

I'm sitting in an attempt at a reclined position, although the back of the chair's solidarity makes it difficult to fully recline; to do so would entail me sliding the edge of my bottom off the base - which there's probably a technical word for (the base, not the sliding off of one's bottom) (if you know it, please tell me, and you are either prominent in the chair industry, enjoy the sport of 'random paging' on Wikipedia, or just plain sad) - which in itself defeats the purpose of reclining - i.e. for extra comfort.

As I type this, my fingers are either frantically flashing over the keyboard, or resting in a contemplative manner, either of which involves my right arm resting on the wooden surface, which unfortunately causes a mild amount of sticking, not so much as it's painful for me to lift my arm from the surface, like it would be after sitting in the same position in a bathtub for far too long, but so it causes a mild amount of discomfort, which whilst easily dismissable, is nonetheless unwanted. My left arm does not suffer the same fate, as I am sitting at such an angle that only the ball of my left wrist is on the surface.

The surface itself is shiny; it appears to be polished, but I believe that that is merely the result of the initial finish, combined with frequent, vigorous cleaning. Whilst there is currently various debris scattered over it, pertaining to revision, my mother's work, CDs for uploading to iTunes, two phones, and several plastic wallets, there is still a sufficient area of the surface clear for one to surmise that this effect is reproduced throughout the surface.

My Physics revision book, soon to be buried by time and dust (guess the reference) after I finish any sort of science forever after tomorrow's exam, is lying open at a pair of pages towards the back, which contain information about 'stars and galaxies' and the life cycle thereof, and several 'witty' comments by the world-renowned CGP standup comedians that merely come across as patronising and childish (one that springs to mind is the use of 'Ewwww! Poo!' for a GCSE (i.e. for 16 year olds!) Biology revision guide, with reference to the digestive system).

The aforementioned plastic wallets are scattered in a somehow aesthetically pleasing haphazard fashion - the reason for the aesthetic quality is probably due to the small act of defiance against the world order (hardeharhar), and thus its OBVIOUS Communist connotations. Yeah.

To the left of the VDU is a printer; a relatively old model that has problems from time to time, and has trouble printing 'the fourth page of three' (I would say 'only a genius could do that!', but 'only a retard' seems more appropriate). It is currently locked and loaded with approximately... 1 sheet of blank printing paper. It lies dormant, and the various nooks on it personify it, giving it a mouth and a nose; although the lack of apparent 'eyes' is somewhat unnerving. It begs to be used.

Above me are 5 shelves, all about 12 inches tall in terms of gaps, except for the bottom one, which is about 20 inches. They are constructed out of the same wood as the work surface; and I daresay that if one was to rest their arm on there for a prolonged period of time, the same unpleasant sticking feeling, as described earlier, would occur. They are filled with books, of varying age, thickness, and indeed quality - from excellence like Emile Zola, to mediocre pot boilers, Nicci French being an example, although the twin author concept is initially intriguing.

There is much more I can say about the environment that I have positioned myself in; but I'm bored of describing, and anyway, this was only really practice for my English exam anyway, in the form of a hopefully mildly entertaining blog post. Sorry if you feel cheated. (The polite form of John Lydon, otherwise known as Public Image). Oh, and if you're wondering why this post has no labels, it's because the 200 character restriction meant that I had to choose between several equally important labels, and therefore chose to omit them all. Thankyou.