Man rooms

I despise the terms "man cave" or "man room". They sound like some sort of rubbish-strewn rec room complete with neon signs, naked lager kegs, ludicrously large flat screens, and foosball tables for terminal cases of arrested adolescence. Whenever I visit one, it isn't long before I expect my aunt to come marching in to tell me my tea is ready and I should wash my hands.

I am, however, a firm believer that as woman has marched forward in the world, it is the inalienable right, nay duty, of man to defend the sacred borders of his study. Granted, mine is the eastern half of the office at Chez Szondy, but the principle is the same.

On the topic, Art of Manliness looks at various masculine retreats. I particularly like Andrew Carnegie's study. Update a few fittings, add some swords, and make a couple of the oak panels swing out to reveal hidey holes for the electronics, the humidor, and the brandy and I'd be quite happy.