Then again, maybe I won't

So I went to bed eventually, and slept; and woke at 4.00am, and I may not know where I am but the boys do. Barry on my pillow, Mac snuggled against my side. Soon as he realised I was awake, Mac slithered down under the duvet. He does that. Snuggle, snuggle; purr, purr. Also knead knead, sharp claws into bare skin. Just to let me know where I was.

I was very solidly awake, and working out plans for the day. Ahead of the world, but hey: at least I wasn't having to play catch-up. I could take the laptop and the manuscript to the Lit & Phil once it opened, work on new book and then revisions, lunch in a pub, stay in town to meet up with Mark for the Grayson Perry lecture...

Except that I lay there and snuggled and listened to the radio and just when I was thinking of getting actually up, about 7am, I fell asleep again. And slept till sometime after ten, and woke up to find myself behindhand after all, and the day totally getting away from me.

So I tore up all my plans, abandoned the thought of new book, shopped for food with the plan of going into town after, and working on revisions until Mark.

Except that then it was 2.30, and I was hatted and booted and ready to go, and I packed manuscript into bag and hefted it and - nah. I was suddenly just too tired.

So I'm still here, drinking coffee as strong as I can bear it, and I am not working today. I shall read a book, and go meet Mark unencumbered at 5.00pm.

Ah, jetlag. It's a good thing I don't care.