Scaraboosh, Scaraboosh, will you do the banned tango...

The first week back at work after all the Christmas gallivanting is always a bummer, so apologies for the lack of posts. Not that much has happened this week to report on, as it happens. I'm still weaning myself off the Christmas chocolates; met up with some gal pals on Thursday for some happy hour pizza and a catch up (always a winner when you're broke); took a half-day from work yesterday to attend the funeral of a very distant relative (was more there for the sake of other family members, and to serve quiche and tea at the wake than anything else); and ploughed my way through my bursting email inbox.

In fact, the most exciting thing (which highlights the tedium of my working life, sadly) to happen this week was a funny email circulated around some work bods featuring a catalogue of misheard song lyrics. You could tell who was bored at their desks and trying to while away the hours until home time by the guffawing and erupting ripples out laughter throughout the office. Which led me to think about my good mate S (moving back up here from The Big Smoke in a couple of weeks) and how we laughed and laughed at school over our other friend C - who thought the lyrics to a really bad dancey tune used often on 'Shooting Stars' with Vic Reeves leaping about inanely to it were "My lover has no money, he's on his trampoline." (Actual lyrics: "My lover has no money, he's got his strong beliefs." That's by Gala, if you care at all.)

This all tickled me so much I had to share:


But my favourite one on the email was this:

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves by Cher
Misheard lyrics: Give these tramps some peas!
Actual lyrics: Gypsies, tramps and thieves!

Hmm. Perhaps next week will be more thrilling?

The art of procrastination...

Let me tell you something about today: I've done bot all. This phrase made an esteemed colleague of mine giggle profusely when I emailed her from two desks away to tell her so, but it's true. Well, it's part true. I've done bot all work-wise. But I've been a Grade-A procrastinator. Today's been one of those days where I've had a million and one things to do but the motivation of a tortoise about to go into hibernation. Tiredness? A little bit. That Monday feeling? Yep. Easily distracted by shiny things? Definitely. You're listening to the Queen of Procrastination.

I was always that kid at school who did their homework at 10:30 on a Sunday night. And I'll always be that girl who leaves everything to the last minute. And no matter how many urgent things I have to do or how many deadlines I'm against, I'll always find something more important. But procrastination is an art form. You can't just sit and do nothing - that's just a waste of time. You have to so something - however trivial - to use up your time and distract you from what you should be doing. It's a skill. And a skill I've mastered over the years. It's almost mandatory at university.

For instance, a true procrastinator will not sit and stare into space doing nothing. No. A true procrastinator will make a list about what they could make for their tea using the ingredients in their fridge. Or reorganise the pens in their desk tidy. Or maybe write out their name backwards and try to memorise how to pronounce it. Perhaps even draw a diagram of how they're going to re-file the papers on their desk when they get around to it. There's a distinction. And all these things I have completed today instead of my work. The down side to my top-class dallying is that by the end of the week, I'll feel terrible. I'll become an insomniac and stress about not finishing half the things I needed to, and I'll only have myself to blame. But I can live with that.

I'm just not sure my boss will agree with me when she returns from holiday to find my to-do list doesn't have any ticks against it. I don't think she studied procrastination at uni.