Nick Richardson, editor of Kitchen Table Memoirs, and I are in heated agreement – a house doesn’t really feel complete until the kitchen table is installed. My kitchen table – a honey-coloured Jarrah piece that comfortably seats eight (but can squeeze in 10 if you squash the littlies along the bench seat) – is where we eat breakfast and dinner everyday. I also study at the kitchen table; work there if I have something important or tricky to write; and sit there to read. I decided long ago not to be precious about the Jarrah – I’m not chopping vegetables on the tabletop but nor do I get my knickers in a twist if a bowl shunted from one end to the other is a bit scratchy. Continue reading
