You know how it is universally accepted that pairs of socks separate in the washing machine (and probably wind up at OddSox (Odd Sox - Facebook page) to be made into something grumpily awesome)? Where is it that time disappears to?

There is never enough of it anyhow, but the older I get the more of it vanishes. One minute its 12pm, the next the fabric shop is closing and it's 4.30pm (why a fabric shop closes at half four is surely another question that needs to be addressed!). 

Friends and family ask me what I'm doing, or make suggestions of stuff to try/buy/do – to which my reflex comment is “it's on the list”. THE LIST. The list is a working document rolling about in the dark fusty recesses of my grey matter. I add to it constantly – big important things (buy chocolate) to little things (sort out wall insulation). I'm quite certain if I wrote down everything on the list it would take forever, use a ton of paper and 74 biros, and be large enough at the end to house a family of penguins quite happily (although that last one seems to be an excellent reason to start scribing!). 

Undoubtedly it would scare the living daylights out of me – an unavoidable and insurmountable mass of tasks to get through....eeeek. I like a list as much as the next person, but when faced with more than, say 10 things, it just seems like TOO much and a cup of tea & cake always magics at the top of the list pretty damn smartish. 

Of course there are exciting items jostling for position; buy chocolate, learn dressmaking, make a tartan Nessie draught excluder but no sooner have I added them to the list than six hours/days/weeks have passed & I am left spinning from the whirlwind thinking “where did that time go??”. Where does it go? If anyone knows please come join me for some tea & cake so this matter can be dealt with. And bring chocolate. I will sew you up a wee Nessie once the time:list ratio has been rectified xx