I am a procrastinator. There I have said it. There are countless web sites, books, mp3s, gurus who promise to teach me how to confront this burden I carry – but not one which will do the one small thing that gets in my way of

perfecting the art of ribbon pleating

http://www.vintagesewing.info/1920s/25-m/m-11.html

making my ideal hat

http://www.hgtv.com/crafting/silk-and-taffeta-hat-and-handbag/index.html

creating a profusion of ruffled delights

http://www.etsy.com/storque/how-to/how-tuesday-pillow-with-rosette-clusters-from-felt-furnishin-5095/

or simply writing for the sheer unbridled joy of it.

There is, in my home a shelf. It is a shelf of little value, tucked in amongst many other shelves. Somewhere upon that shelf sits a row of how-to books. How to identify wild mushrooms; how to fix just about everything; how to sew; how to sew some more; how to be the perfect mother; how to be the perfect wife; how to have the perfect child, how to make the perfect blog website… Unfortunately this shelf is directly behind ‘my’ seat at our dining table.

The dining table in our tiny wee house is also the children’s drawing table; their making table; the laundry sorting and folding table; the ‘I’ll put that in the kitchen in minute’ table. When it comes to mealtimes to which we do, to our credit, always sit down together there is usually something which has not been moved from the table. I am usually the one who picks this errant item up and pops it on the self behind me.

The shelf behind me groans and moans and taunts me with higgledy piggledy abandon. I cannot move until it is conquered. To do so would be the work of 5 minutes. 90% of the pile will be destined for the bin or the recycling basket. 5 minutes work to release me to the joys of creativity.

But, of course, there is always the top of the printer, just behind Mr Dotty’s seat…