On being time poor
I'm always being asked to take on extra work, do favours for people, sign up to new social networking websites or - God help me - spend more time with my family these days.
There are, sadly, not enough hours in the day for all these commitments. They would, I have worked out, clash with my regularly scheduled loafing, not to mention finding the time for writing Mirth, Woe and two book projects.
Unless somebody gets up into space and slows down the Earth to 36-hour days, I fear I might have to cut down of the loafing. And this will not do.
I've got little enough time to do things these days as it is, and can barely find thirty minutes for a quick hand shandy at the launderette. A task which is tough enough as it is, given the dearth of yummy mummies using the facilities these days, forced out as they are by skank-faced harridans with tattooed breasts.
Worse, and despite my best attempts to travel back to last Monday, I can never get enough AAA batteries for my Time Machine, which now sits, forlornly, in the boot of my car, flux capacitor as dead as Jade Goody's career.
"Takes 3,000 AAA batteries and a PP-9" it said on the box, which I didn't read when I bought the thing at a car boot sale in Yeovil.
"Batteries not included," it continued, the power-crazed bastard.
All is not lost, I might be able to get a fiver for it at Cash Converters. If - and this is a big 'if' - if I can find the time to get down there.
Has anybody got 4,500 volts handy?