Our office (A.K.A The Scrapbooking Room) has two office chairs, two desks, one for the computer and one for scrapbooking. There is also a large built in wardrobe, 2 bookshelves and a pile of boxes.
Roughly calculating as I look around the room, I think 95% of shelving space is dedicated to something other than computing. At times if I swivel the chair just the wrong way it catches on these little basketty thingies from Ikea, and if I am really lucky the top corner of the chair (it is one of those high-backed ones) will gracefully fling the aforementioned Ikea baskets on a lovely arc across the room. This might be ok, except that the baskets are filled with, um, I am not even sure what to call these. There is one full of coloured paper clips, another with buttons, more with little words on bits of coloured paper (I really don't want to know what they cost) and then these other things that Mrs Grendel said belonged to somebody called 'Brad'. My naturally inquisitive nature ends there!
This does lead me to my next thought though. Twelve by twelve inch sheets of paper are pretty easy to take, as are sheets of photo paper, cutting mats, tools and sheets of rub-on alphabets. But why are there so many tiny little things that require so many tiny little jars. I now have fishing lures that have been evicted and are homeless, their previous lodgings now usurped by these bright happy pastel entities.
Where once serious sinkers and brassy swivels once rolled and chattered about deep sea adventures, now there are pieces of disembodied alphabet, or lilliputian envelopes and all kinds of miniature hardware items. It is like someone has created a tiny Bunnings (hardware/homeware store) and is still selling all the tiny items for the same price as the real ones.
But worst of all is when the corner of that chair catches basket holding the bloody things and I have to spend half an hour on the floor with Brad.