As garrets go mine is pretty luxurious, being carpeted, well lit and heated. Usually. The radiator has packed up, just in time for winter, leaving it sufficiently cold up there that I’ve taken to typing with fingerless gloves on, like a proper struggling artist.
In the short term I think I’ll be moving downstairs to one of the machines in the heated bit of the house. The only problem is that these are all on the house mind-control network, and hence on the internet, which is not a good thing when I’m ripe for some writing avoidance, as I always am when I’m doing first draft (‘It’s for research, honest’). In the long term, we’ll have to resort to finding a plumber, as neither myself not Beloved are natural born DIYers.