You have a night in whilst your partner is at a Parents Association Crafts Evening (she’s headed out of the door, Captain Oates-like, clutching a bottle of Spanish red wine ten minutes previously).
You are going to dig out the most recent draft of your novel, which has been gathering dust for four years, and work on it. You have the folder of the chapters you’re going to revise. It’s yellow. You have a highlighter and a favourite gel-ink pen (black) ready to hand. Firstly, though, you have to check your mail. Then you need to find some music to listen to. Then there ar those pictures you took earlier that you really ought to process as a kind of warm-up exercise for doing something creative.
This is interrupted by Little Elf wailing for thirty seconds, enabling you to spend ten minutes wondering if she’s going to wake up.
Oops! You’re supposed to at least fill the washing machine (children really do devour an awful lot of clothes). You fill it and realise you’ve forgetten to eat. You spend spend thirty minutes dithering about not cooking anything too complicated then have spaghetti and a sauce out of a bottle. Then you feel guilty because you haven’t done any yoga.
It’s ten o’clock. Possibly you could revise a chapter whilst watching Doctor Who at the same time. Dudelet resolves the dilemma by waking up and howling and moaning and telling you to go away for ten minutes until he relents and let’s you carry him to the toilet.
You’re definitely watching Doctor Who after that. And you’re sure you can read through a chapter at the same time.
Eleven. Possibly not.
Eleven thirty. You’re holding the unopened yellow folder on your lap when you hear the front door open.
Well, Doctor Who was very good.