And suddenly, as I checked the date to fill in a form last night, I found that there are only four days left until the end of the month. I have nine possible sets of submissions to make, and none actually finalised. After a marathon session this morning I managed to get two sets near enough done. I’ll get another couple done tonight and things will seem to look a little brighter. However, it’s a long way from the scenario of being ready in advance, which I imagined when I got the least lost sent off.

The previous few days had been spent writing articles for Facebook and newsletters, intending to metaphorically clear my desk before getting to work on the poetry submissions. By the time I’d sorted out a couple of technical hitches and spent a couple of days in Nottingham and relaxed a bit, I found I’d actually lost a week.

If I cut out all the extra writing, I doubt I’d be much better off as I’m the sort of person who doesn’t do something until they are forced to. Some call it working under pressure, some call it being lazy. It’s much the same. Having honed my procrastination skills for the last 60 years, I’m unlikely to develop a sense of urgency, or a passion for efficiency, in retirement.

In fact, I’m so committed to procrastinating I just drifted off and read an article about how to make myself more productive. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t worked.

Wood Pigeon