One thing that could be generally agreed upon was that we were good with problems. All of us who were not neuros were frequently experiencing problems, some on a daily basis. The problems ranged for the ephemeral stuff to the existential crisis of trying to eat fish and chips from the paper without getting your fingers greasy when there were no more wooden forks (using forks still requires a dexterity that is beyond many and the fork’s history goes back as far as ancient Greece) to putting the same coloured socks together and not getting them mixed up with anyone else’s. My mother said that socks were the bane of her life and that was it, they suddenly became the bane of mine. There’s a character from a play by William Shakespeare that is called Macbeth. It’s a play, although we did the graphic novel, about a man who so much wants to be King that he kills everyone around him. He killed the real king so that he could sit on his throne and then he went on to kill a load of other people only because he thought that they suspected him of killing the king. His wife, Mrs Macbeth forced him to do this, as many of the boys suspected. He ended up being killed by the English and a bloke called Donalbane, or Donald Bane, who then took the throne whilst his wife threw herself from the castle walls. We read the ‘graphic novel’ and out teacher tried to explain some of it to us, but the words didn’t always mean what they appeared to mean and many of them meant an awful lot more. No wonder why talking is the most confusing form of communication. And still I deviate.

Procrastination: is the act of delaying or putting off something that is normally of significant importance (at least to the person who is avoiding it). 

There was something that I ought to have been doing, nagging at the back of my mind, it sat there blatantly, requesting action. I had nothing else on my mind, but the cloud of confusion meant that I never quite saw it. It was bigger than an elephant and I never ever saw it until it was too late.

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