Some people have a proper studio.
We have a £30 kitchen table from Facebook Marketplace, and I feel a bit silly writing this, but I think it might be one of the most important parts of Weebert’s World.
It’s made of old mahogany, heavy and scratched, with wobbly squeaky castors that make it easy to move but impossible to sneak past without a bit of a protest. It’s lived a full life, you can tell just by looking at it. The dents, the little grooves, the paint stains and cup rings. We didn’t put all those there, not at first. But now it’s hard to tell where someone else’s story ends and ours begins.
When we brought it home, we thought we’d just got a bargain. A solid table for £30? Perfect. But what we actually got was a space that’s ended up doing everything, and I mean everything.
This table has been a potting bench in spring, covered in compost and terracotta pots. It’s been a Bert-building station in autumn, with tiny copper parts and bits of Meccano spread out in organised chaos. It’s the place I rest my elbows when I’m writing stories, or when I’m deep in a webinar, trying to learn something new and hoping the iPad doesn’t slide off the pile of books it’s balanced on.
It’s also the place I’ve sat with my head in my hands, tears falling on the same wood that later held birthday cakes and Yorkshire puddings and laughter loud enough to shake the windows. The same table where our grandchildren have helped Andy build Berts, carefully tapping things with their little hammers and getting glue everywhere, always so proud to be included.
And now, somehow, it’s become our stop-motion animation studio.
There’s no lighting rig. No soundproofed room. Just this table, a camera, a few lamps from around the house, and a whole lot of hope. We sometimes joke that this is the most hard-working piece of furniture we’ve ever owned, but underneath the jokes, there’s truth.
Because we are bootstrapping Weebert’s World with everything we’ve got, and that includes this table. For some people, a creative business starts with investors and studios and clean lines. For us, it started right here. With scrap. With love. With the creaky rhythm of castors rolling across the kitchen floor and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, we’re making something that matters.
I know it might sound daft, getting emotional about a table, but I also know I’m not the only one trying to build something real with very little. And if you’re someone trying to do the same, here’s what I want to say:
You don’t need a perfect space. You need your space.
Even if it’s borrowed. Even if it’s loud or messy or shared. Even if it doubles as a craft table, a Zoom desk, and somewhere to serve up roast potatoes.
Creativity doesn’t care where it starts, it just wants to begin. And sometimes, the best things come not in spite of the dents and limitations, but because of them.
So no, this blog isn’t really about a table. It’s about how things can hold us, quite literally, while we figure out how to keep going. It’s about building something from scraps and stories. And it’s about trusting that love, imagination, and a bit of glue can go a very long way.
Thank you for being here. Truly.
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From our kitchen table to wherever you are,
Love, Lotty x
