Seven minutes to midnight and I have written two posts that just won’t do. I’m becoming tedious.

I wrote about coins, but I wrote about them recently and I know that not everyone finds them as interesting as I do. I tried some current affairs, offering advice to Harry and Meghan, but even mentioning them in passing gives them too much credibility.

I’m now writing about writing a post under extreme time pressure, which isn’t a new subject, though it is a new record for time pressure – seven minutes is not much time. It normally takes me that long to add the tags and photos. Tonight’s photo is likely to be the first thing I come to, and the tags will be rudimentary.

Actually, with two minutes to go and only 131 words written, it isn’t going to happen but I will hack on and post just after midnight. Some things just aren’t meant to be.

I filled in the annual questionnaire that I do for the University, though I’m not sure what they actually gain from the information I supply. My hands hurt, my knees hurt and several other joints ache at times. They are more painful this year than they were last year. That’s about it. I could write much more about it, but they don’t want it.

Nottingham Trent University, our second university, has been doing a project with poetry during lockdown. I discovered the site last night when I was looking for villanelles. It’s OK as poetry sites go, but they asked if I’d fill in a questionnaire, so I did. As I was going through it I realised that I had nothing sensible or useful to say. So, several minutes in, I closed it down. I tend to do that these days. If I were wiser I would simply not start answering, but there’s always that flicker of vanity that persuades you that you have something valuable to say. Usually I don’t.

A bit like tonight…

Fifteen minutes by the time I’ve added the title. Not bad. Though not good enough.