I am disorganised. So I need a diary. Being too mean to buy more of those very expensive Filofax pages, at the beginning of the year I bought a page-a-day diary. Quite a nice one. So far so good.
But it doesn't work. It's no good looking at one page at a time, because you (or I) need to see that day in the context of the whole month. I need to see all the things that are happening around it, so that if there are clusters of things all happening close together, then I know that that is not the time to invite twenty people to dinner or re-carpet the stairs. Furthermore, I need to see it all up on the wall, clearly, staring at me, challenging me to forget an appointment or a birthday.
So today I went shopping for a calendar. Not easy in March, as I discovered, but I finally ran one to ground in a card shop. I had a choice of Vintage Transport or Warplanes (I would have preferred plain, but never mind). So I now have a Vintage Transport calendar hanging above my desk (complete with March picture - a "1908 Vulcan Roi des Belges", no less - which looks like a cross between a Tesco trolley and a pushchair), and inefficiency will be a thing of the past.
(Apologies to anyone who has managed to get to the end of this exceptionally boring post. All I can say it that you were warned. But I'm currently suffering from a form of writer's block (see post below) and buying calendars and writing about them beats doing housework.)