I woke up this morning and suddenly realised there were only six days to go. How did that happen? Everything's been moving along like treacle and now it's as if I'm at the wheel of a runaway train and I don't know where the brakes are. Publication is on Monday, the launch party is on Tuesday night. I haven't even looked at my speech, never mind written it. The two readings I'm planning to do are still just that; plans. I've got an idea what they'll be, but is the first one too short and the second one too long? I won't know until I've practised in front of an invited audience, but I'm working late every night this week, so when. I can't stand up on the train and start spouting like a Roman Emperor, they'll have me in a strait-jacket and off for a meeting with Napoleon and Henry the Eighth before you can say Scotrail.
Still, everybody says I'm cool, calm and collected in a crisis. It WILL be alright on the night. Now where did I leave my toga?
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