I am generally pretty organised, I like to know the exact location of everything I might need during the course of the day, week, year even, so that I don't have to waste time searching. When cooking I can stick my hand in the spice cupboard and without looking pick out the cayenne pepper, cumin seeds, or whatever, because I know exactly, by feel, where it is.
Same with books: they are shelved alphabetically by author and I can go to the exact shelf on which all the Cs are without opening my eyes and grab Angela Carter's book of Fairytales should I need to. So imagine my horror when, having left it as late as I dare, I went to the S shelf on Thursday night to grab Muriel Spark's The Ballad of Peckham Rye, to reread it for the lecture I am to do on Tuesday, and found it not there.
Thus ensued the exact thing I try always to avoid: every bag was searched, couches were upended, papers scattered: no book. I remembered the difficulty of obtaining a copy last year, none of the bookshops had it and I had to buy it from a secondhand dealer on Amazon. I don't have time for Amazon now!
Yesterday it struck me that I might have lent it to Rhona (best friend, lives the other side of Glasgow) so phoned her. She was trying to get the kids, as they squealed in the background, organised for a trip to deep sea world, but, yes, she found it. She would post it immediately, special delivery.
So it has arrived. And I have learnt not to leave such things to the last minute ever again.
On another note: Lulu has inspired me, with her wonderful diagrams, to try one of my own. A new way to document the days and brighten the pages of my diary. Here is my first effort: