The recliner faces the flickering SONY. At its left a waste-paper basket and
arm caddy holding a TV Guide, Kleenex and a back-scratcher. At the right
a side table with more Kleenex, a glass containing manicuring tools, gum, a pen
for the crossword, clown-button remotes and the phone. A dish supporting a
cemented lump of peppermints promises a taste somewhere between sidewalk chalk
and the Eucharist. This is the command centre for the elderly. We may progress from highchair to school desk, Poäng to Eames, but we end up here, camouflaged in an acrylic afghan and battling our own mortality.