busker

I've decided this whole Time 'n Motion Studied Prompt Personal Makeover caper is a double-edged sword and needs to be approached with caution mixed with mañana.

"Festina Lente", as the pennants over Hong Kong's Deep Water Bay golf club proclaim.

But first the good news, which is no less worrying. About two Christmases back I was in Barbara Deering's ace music shop - have you noticed how everyone and everything is always divine or ace or non-pareil? I'm such a toady [Yes, you are. Only just noticed it? Get on with it - Ed] - and spotted a book of yuletide tunes that even I could play and which I knew would make me the toast of Seabold Saturday, have young gels scrabbling at my undergarments, and so forth. I bought it and scurried home where I put in my usual focused 19 minutes of effort before drifting off elsewhere. But it always rankled that I hadn't licked the Chet Atkins-style arrangement of "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" which actually rocked and could be played anywhere, any season.

Next Xmas came and I laid the book out, Xmas went and I shoved the book back in the music rack. But it always lodged there as a failure - plus my swanky undergarments were staying ominously scrabble free.

Cut to April 2005 and a new man thanks to these dubious books by which my life is now scrupulously scripted.

1. 0700 hrs - Rise, ablute, break fast.
2. NO switching: on 'puter to check email * TV to pretend you're getting news
3. Over brek, check hard copies of yesterday's emails and letters.
4. 0745 hrs: Brek over. Shove dirty stuff *in* dishwasher, clean surfaces.
5. Yes, that includes stove.
6. 0800 hrs: Permission to log in to Craigslist - *Seattle* section - and survey new prospects.
7. 0820 - go out for walk and think over the Craig stuff.
8. 0900: Manacle self to 'workstation' and do that thing you do.
9. Et cetera.

So, mirabile dictu, I forge ahead and arrive at 3:00pm with chores done and a reward of 20 mins' slacking on what I feel like. Hmm, says I, fie on the good doctor MGraw, fie on Atlantic Review or surfing the UK online papers - what about that Rudolph ditty?

Out with guitar, timer set for 60 mins and off we go, and dang me if I haven't got it pretty much licked in 47 minutes, at which point I decide I will *jog* down to Deering's and buy myself some new strings. No need actually put them on, just buy the damn'd things and leave the rest to another day.

I reach Deering's and there's some fussy type uncle type there looking for some guitar music for little Tommy who plays in his Xmas choir band. He knows it's out of season, but do they have anything "Christmassy"? The assistant picks out three including the book I've been working on.<"That is one is particularly good," I murmur diffidently. Uncle looks at me.

"Do you know what they sound like?"

I think they're OK," I nod. Pause. I look at the girl. "OK, if I give it a go?" I reach a nylon string off the rack and flip the book open - ma foi! It falls on the page with Rudolph. My brow furrows as I give the chords and fingering a lightning glance before launching into a virtuoso rendering, giving the fretboard hardly a glance but pretending 2 B sight-reading, heh heh. [You total fake flake - Ed]

I do NOT play it all thru - big mistake - but end halfway thru the repeat with a "Yes, rather catchy".

Nods all round .Uncle buys up.

The girl is looking at me as if to say, K, dude, not bad.

I buy my strings and exit with cheery wave, ego trip thoroughly enjoyed.

And so to the worrying news: I've been poring over the organization books and consulting the charts I've now been able to make (with the hour I set myself to recap on Excel); I've rolled the runes and consulted the entrails of last night's quail and ... I'm a little distressed to find that fripperies like **blogging** have no place in a go-getter's timetable.

But surely, I hear you cry, "a properly organized chappie *makes* time?" (Behind me, you temptresses! I'm ready for that)

alas alack, no. We public school chappies, raised to rum bum and the lash, get uneasy when things get easy; we need a bit of denial in our life to put a smile on the stiff upper.

But let me think about it: now that I've ditched that NBC stinker, "The Office", I may be able to wangle something with the old conscience.

Also, having just mailed Uncle Sam a prompt tax check for a piddling $17G, I'll try pleading poverty issues and point out how maintaining the blog will keep me off drowning my impoverished sorrows in flagons of rotgut sake.

Stay tuned for possible instalments ...