So many things to write about, and very little actually written.

This seems to be the story of my life. I actually settled down and finished two short articles for the Numismatic Society Facebook page. They took ten months, most of which was procrastination. The second stage was to piece things together slowly, followed by editing and thinking. Or, in other words, self-deception and procrastination. Then I finished them off in an evening. That’s it. Ten months wasting time and an evening of work. If you can call sitting at a keyboard work.

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Somehow, the decluttering process has ground to a halt and I seem to have done little apart from make the house more cluttered.It is one of life’s ironies how this happens. Tomorrow all the old and damaged books that aren’t wanted by charity shops will be off to waste paper. It is time to be ruthless. Most of them should have gone years ago, but they came to me in various ways and I didn’t have the heart to do it. Now, when it’s a case of them or me, I am finally developing the necessary killer instinct. Nobody wants books on fifty year old sales techniques. My Dad didn’t want them, which is how I ended up with them. I don’t want them but somehow they mutated from being old books to being part of my life. It’s stupid really, and probably reveals more about my mental state than my reading habits. Just because you remember things from childhood doesn’t mean you hve to keep them. After all, I remember polio, but I wouldn’t want it.

I actually tripped over a pile of books a couple of nights ago. I manged to grab a chair and avoided an actual fall, but if it’s war they want, it’s war they can have.

I’m going to put the kettle on, open Fahrenheit 451 and plan a surprise attack on . . .

. . . well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?

Stack of books burning