I take no pride in the state of my desk. This disorder doesn't encourage creativity, but impedes it. Nevertheless...
In the centre is my MacBookPro, downloading an update to iTunes. To the left, an old hard disk that used to be used for back-ups which I can't bear to throw out, and a copy of George Thomson's Aeschylus and Athens which I'm reading before I go to the Kings College London Greek Play, the Persians, next week. There's my running watch, and my iPhone. The red object to the rear was my mother's writing case. She was a great letter-writer. I wish I could emulate her.
To the right is an old pestle and mortar, in case I need to grind any drugs in the night, and a pile of books, Robert Darnton's The Case for Books at the top of the pile. Now I type this up there's a wine glass there too, but that wasn't there when I took the picture.
And as for the desk itself, it was my father's.
He was a doctor, a Cambridge GP, and this desk was in the surgery. He sat on one side, with stethoscope, ophthalmoscope and prescription pad. On the other side, patients would listen to diagnoses and prognoses. I have no idea how old it is.