Where do I blog?

Where do I blog? In a sun lounge that is too hot to work in on a sunny afternoon, too cold to work in on a winter's morning, there is an old bank desk and a new cupboard where I hide my computer. This is not Virginia Woolf's "Room of one's own" because here all my family come to look for me, to chat, to ask when a meal is, to give me a hug or a kiss, or to complain that I haven't done their laundry, don't know where their swimming costume is. When Raf lived here, he'd come in to play quietly with his toy cars, until his dad would remove him, worrying that a toddler would be bothering me. I miss Raf.