I’m currently on deadline for The Scotsman, which, of course, means that I’m here updating my blog, reading other people’s blogs and surfing random websites in a frantic kind of displacement activity which ensures that although my deadline isn’t until 9am tomorrow morning, I will still struggle to meet it.
So, I have 1500 words to write on the subject of how to make sure that burglars don’t break into your home while you’re on holiday. I currently have 163 of those words nailed (although only happy with about half that number, maybe slightly less), and I have this stupid thing going on whereby I sit and read people’s blogs for a while, run the Microsoft wordcount again, as if the number of words on the page will have magically increased since the last time I checked, sigh heavily, lather, rinse and repeat. If an opportunity ever comes up to procrastinate for the Olympics, I am THE MAN, people. (Well, the woman. I could probably be pedantic for the Olympics too, should the need arise. Just bear it in mind…)
I get so much done when I’m on deadline. I mean, I don’t get the writing done, obviously, but my house gets really clean and I also manage to get round to all those niggly other little tasks that I’ve been putting off forever. (Not the accounts, though. I’m not that desperate).
Anyway, because there is more than enough procrastination to go round here, here is a link to my last article for The Scotsman, for your viewing pleasure. Read it and weep. Criticise it in any way, and I get Rubin to bite your bum…