So much to do, so little time.
I’ve just looked at my life, recoiled in horror, and tried to write a “to do” list.
Clear my “desk” (which is a dining room table)
Watch TV and relax
Write a blog post
Write a poem
Dream up a way of making money
Start putting stuff on eBay
Cook the ratatouille for tomorrow
Wash up after cooking
Do the photographs for my talk at the Numismatic Society (six weeks away!) Eeek!
Organise my collection
Organise my underwear. Some of it is older than the kids. There is a definitely diaphonous quality to some of them, caused by the material wearing so thin a good sneeze might make them disintegrate. But I’m a married man, so I don’t need to impress anyone with the quality of my undergarments.
Write another “to do” list – this one is getting too long
Read up on growing food from scraps as recommended by Higgledy Piggledy Mom
Visit Derrick and Tootlepedalto check on new developments in how to age disgracefully. A quick scan indicates that Derrick looks set to drown in pursuit of photography and TP has been watching a helicopter move a portable toilet. Jackie, the saint who is married to Derrick, has been photographing his antics, presumably for an entry in the Darwin Awards.
Write a list of all the other blogs I need to catch up with.
Lots of others.
Procrastinate. It’s not an entry you expect to see on a “to do” list but if I don’t procrastinate I’m going to have to start the washing up and make ratatouille.
Wrestle with conscience – Julia is out. If I ring for a Chinese takeaway she won’t know. I can wash away the evidence, mask the smell and…then I’ll tell her. I always do. I just don’t seem to be able to keep a secret. It means I lead a blameless life and never have anything on my conscience very long. I would make a dreadful criminal.
Ah well, washing up it is then…
The featured image is completely random.