So that was the Bank Holiday weekend, then.

Some went to the Carnival, some (the missus) went to Barcelona, others got together with friends and family for sundry social purposes. Muggins ‘ere turned his back on all that in order to spend seventy two hours “ writing” and produced about a thousand not-very-good words. Of course this thousand words was liberally interspersed with e-mail checking, tea making (and numerous subsequent trips to the toilet), searching through piles of CDs for that essential spur to the creative process and resultant distractions, ( “Must just read the sleeve notes to this Thin White Rope b-sides and live rarities compilation.”) inevitable, no-nonsense, no-more-distractions fact-checking internet missions that were almost immediately hijacked by whimsical impulses ( “I wonder how much David Thomas actually weighs? Perhaps it’s on the Ubu site. Perhaps I’ll be able to find out the population of Indonesia on the Resonance FM forum…”) vital forays to the corner shop and Blockbusters just to buy biscuits and find someone to talk to plus long periods of gazing despairingly at the monitor, saying, “This is rubbish anyway, it’s incoherent, juvenile, asinine, and no-one wants to read this stuff. Where is this going? Just scrap it and write something else/ what’s the point anyway? Why don’t you just pack it in and live life!!!!!” which naturally alternated with, “ You’ve come this far and now you want to turn back, typical, gutless whingeing, you never complete anything. Do IT!!! Prove them all wrong!!!! Prove yourself wrong!!!!! This will be a masterpiece!!!!!” and the inevitable half-hourly litany of, “ Right, at X o’clock I’m going to knuckle down and get seven/six/five/four/ solid hours work in before lunch/dinner/bed, finally culminating in the “it’s a bit late now, might as well watch a DVD”, followed by looks of steely resolution to self in bathroom mirror while cleaning teeth and the absolute certainty that tomorrow is THE day. Yes!