Don’t panic!

I’m sitting here with a mild feeling of anxiety.

I mean, it’s 13.48 on Sunday.

The weekend is slipping through my fingers like fine Mexican sand on an, erm, Mexican beach.

And no matter how hard I clench my digits together the sand continues to slip between them.

It’s 13.49 now.

I should be doing something.

Something productive.

Mozart composed his first work at 4 (and at 5 he went home for tea, ha ha ha).

But really.

I’m feeling panicy and unproductive.

I suppose I could have a shower and get dressed?


Now then reaches towards the ancient yet still faithful rucksack where did I put that draft symphony score I was working on when I was three-years-old?