I feel this might be the point to confide in you all that I am trying to write a novel—which of course explains why I spend so much of my time procrastinating and fiddling around with a vigor that would put Nero to shame. In an attempt to create a sense of urgency along the lines of “let’s get the damned thing finished” I am trying to write 1,000 words a day and half the time it flows with a speed that would make treacle look like a Speedy Gonzales type of matter.
Today’s creative ways to waste the idle hour that should be used to crank out the sparkling prose include:
A. Teaching the dog to use the new dog door that the builders have just created for him. Up to this point his method of entering and exiting the house has been to march up to the glass back door and claw vigorously on it until one of his loyal handmaidens opens it for him. Apart from the generally detrimental effect on my nerves the clawing has given the glass in the back door a rather psychotic frosted look. The dog door lessons have included such highlights as sticking my head through small opening and making enticing noises whilst simultaneously wondering if I can reach my mobile phone to summon fire brigade if I manage to get stuck.
B. Boiling seven eggs to make into egg and cress sandwiches for an art show at school. Have lost faith in my culinary skills to such an extent that I found myself googling “how to make an egg sandwich” which used up at least quarter of an hour.
I am sure this loss of confidence in the face of school catering challenges dates in part back to the mince pies I provided for Drama Queen No. 2’s Kindergarten Christmas party in America. The plate of tastefully icing sugar sprinkled mince pies remained untouched to my embarrassment. I subsequently discovered the rumor had gone round that they were made of sheep’s head, a perfectly understandable confusion between haggis and mince pie here and this factor may have gone some way to explain the other parents’ plague like avoidance as I waved the plate in their direction
C. Having a go at sorting the sock basket, a soothing type of occupation that involves lining up the thirty or so spare socks lurking at the bottom of the clean washing basket—and then discovering that none of them match and chucking them back into the basket. Husband is not helping the situation, in that despairing of ever finding a matching pair of socks, he has taken to just pairing approximate matches thus perpetuating the problem big time.
D. And that of course is all before you get to all those wonderful internet linked timewasters—today’s top treat was having a look at You Tube clips of Isabella Rossellini’s nature films where she dresses up as various insects and animals and re enacts their mating habits. I particularly like the spider one  but after twenty minutes of idleness—sorry dedicated watching of these art movies, I have to say, you couldn’t make it up.
E. Making endless cups of tea and opening the fridge to gaze aimlessly at the contents as if some miracle has occurred and the motley selection within has been transformed into some tempting type of treat. On which note have just made myself another cuppa only to discover bits of cress floating in it—cue weak pun, I must be feeling cress-fallen.