The Universe seems to be playing games with me at the moment. You know those (completely unrealistic) ideas I had about making time to write early in the morning?
Rather than writing I ended up emptying the dishwasher, clearing a sink full of washing up, tidying the kitchen and lounge up, folding some clothes, re-filling the washing machine, hanging more clothes up to dry, and so on.
I looked up at the clock as I walked this way and that and saw the minutes disappearing. A remaining half an hour became twenty minutes, then ten. I’m writing this at lunchtime, if you were wondering. I have four minutes left.
I joked with a friend a little while ago about the nuclear armageddon clock. If you’ve never heard of it, there’s a story about about how many minutes we are from midnight – with midnight being the outbreak of nuclear war. We wondered if such a clock could describe the point at which we have a falling-down moment, drop the chore we are doing, and walk from the house.
I’m not going to say any more about the idiotic scenes that entered my head in the moments that followed – they are more than likely going to form the basis of the novel I might write. I think perhaps the first chapter might be titled “Five minutes to midnight”.
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