In praise of Twiglets

I’ve long been an advocate of Victor Hugo’s method of getting things done. He used to get his valet to hide his clothes to make sure he wasn’t tempted to go outside before he was finished. However, in mercy to my neighbours, I wear my dressing gown. At least, that’s my explanation as to why I never get dressed before noon unless I have to, and I’m sticking to it.

The only disadvantage of this method is it leads to me writing in the kitchen a lot (the front room faces onto the road, and I have some pride left). And so, as I search for inspiration, there’s a certain tendency for everything to get a bit food-orientated. Right now I am eyeing up a Twiglets can, which is tempting me even though I know it’s empty. Come on, it seems to say. There might just be one little stick of yeasty salty goodness lurking at the bottom. Why don’t you come and see?

Now we all know how that story ends. There’s nothing in the can, so you have a shower, sadly, and get dressed, sadly, and then go outside, sadly, and somehow you end up in the corner shop buying yet more Twiglets. Yes, it ends happily, but who is really in control? I don’t like the idea that a snack product has more control over my life than I do. So I try to think of other things to write about. The sun is too bright for me to see my screen properly, but I don’t want to complain about that in case it sulks and we end up with no sun for three months as per usual. I’m going to have to travel tomorrow, including getting up before eight on a Sunday, which is just depressing. And I still haven’t made all the bookings for the trip, or written my talk, or dealt with my admin backlog.

I’m going to go and take a shower. Sadly.

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