It is that kind of day. The wind is blowing, the sun is shining and the rain it raineth. And somehow time both stands still and moves at the speed of light. This takes on apocolyptic significance, how can it only be 1.30pm when hours ago it was 1.15pm? And yet, and yet; all the things that you should have done to make your world right, and your life possible, are not even begun. It is past midday, that means the evening will be upon you and you still have not made your fortune, won the Nobel Prize for being You, and found out why your children think you are a bit odd. But, you have made a list and filed today's letters (letter) and sorted out the washing. Soon, you tell yourself, soon you will check your emails and you feel very busy indeed. And then, then you remember again, that the evening will be followed by the night, and by then it will be too late, you are doomed. Doomed to never have painted that masterpiece, never to have understood why men behave one way and women another, and never to have met Lionel Blue.
So here I am in my studio. It is past midday, and the evening has not yet come. I have made a list and sorted out my letter (in the bin) and have got 19 Year Old Daughter to do the washing. I am sure that all will be well. The things I have to do today are very small indeed, and those small things will make bigger things possible. I have four of these small important things to do, and you will be as relieved as I am that none of them include cold calling. Not even to Lionel Blue.
The picture is of me in a Veronese Mausoleum looking at photos and momentoes of those for whom time has run out. Their washing, emails, letters and dreams are all done now. Mine aren't however, so I had better get on. Allelulia.
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