This morning, as my alarm went off at some hideously early time on a Saturday I dragged my slightly hungover self out of the comfort of my bed and headed into Falmouth. It was a still, calm autumn morning, and dawn lit up Penryn harbour; everything was bathed in a soft amber light. I decided the walk would do me good, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take a few photographs while I had the world to myself.
The Cornwall Film Festival kicks off in Falmouth 6-9 November, and I had decided to volunteer , partly because it is a good way to get a free ticket and pick up some useful insider information, and also because volunteering at festivals can be a lot of fun. This morning's meeting was a bit of an induction, a chance to meet the team, check out the venues and mingle with other potential volunteers (as well as we could at 9am without the benefit of serious amounts of caffeine).
Despite my good intentions to return home after the meeting and get on with something a) useful, b) meaningful or c) work that I actually needed complete, I still managed to spend rather a lot of time wandering around Falmouth where I bumped into a couple of friends and bought more stuff in Tescos that I don't really need. The rest of the afternoon disappeared in a blur.
I think someone out there is stealing time. It's the only rational explanation as to why this keeps happening. Several other people I know have reported the same phenomenon. Surely this can't be a coincidence?
Suddenly it was 6.30pm and as I was whipping up another culinary masterpiece, I became rooted to the spot. what strange enchantment was this? Luckily I managed to free myself by the time Strictly Come Dancing had finished, but I was so overcome by this effort that I had to recuperate by spending some time phone talking to one of my best friends.
It's now after 10pm, and I'm just settling down to get started. I think it's going to be a late one....
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