12 Rules for Life? Jordan who? Twelve? I laugh at twelve. So scattergun, so disorganised, so undisciplined. None of that flabby thinking here, thank you. Nope, one rule is all I need. I’m still playing with different articulations but Do lots, expect little is the Orwell-approved, mostly Anglo-Saxon, less-is-more
This week has definitely been a week of hustling. Also, a week of trying and failing to use a word other than hustling to describe what I’m currently fully engaged in: pressing copies of the book into the hands of people who may or may not do anything with
It turns out, I needn’t have stressed. The boxes arrived and everything went very smoothly, partly because I had imagined the worst, after which almost every eventuality would have felt easy; partly because my neighbour kindly helped get everything up to my flat. (Thank you, Garth!) I wish I
I was a Cub Scout when I was a kid. Be prepared was the motto I learnt as soon as I joined as a scab-kneed eight year old. Not that it did me much good. I’ve spent the majority of my life being underprepared, self-sabotaging my efforts to achieve
Friends never come right out and say it but I can see it in their eyes. The gentle questioning as it slowly sinks in. The slightly forced enthusiasm once it’s clear my mind’s made up. That makes it sound like I’ve decided to BASE jump off Big