I have just lost the right to say that I’m not a procrastinator. In fact, I believe I’m incurable. Look at this kitchen chair I have at my desk. I picked it up off the side of the road in Stanmore some time last year - it had been thrown out because it was wobbly. I tried to fix it up with duct tape, but over the year it became progressively wobblier until a big bit fell off it and it became super-wobbly. Did I then replace the chair like any sane individual would? No. I just put the bit of wood by the door so I could fend off intruders with it and kept sitting on the chair. It was hard to balance on, but using it was easier than going to K-Mart for a new one.

This week I came back and tried sitting on my chair again. I decided that it would last another six months until I move, so I wouldn’t bother replacing it just yet. Then, this morning as I sat checking my email, the damn piece of crap just disintegrated beneath me, sending me crashing to the floor like an idiot. A procrastinating, idiot in fact. I count six pieces of dismembered chair scattered around me. And I, of course, sit on the largest remaining piece typing a weblog post about it and writing some emails - still not getting up and chucking the stupid thing to the curb, or going off to K-Mart so that I have something other than an extremely wobbly upended chair carcass to sit on.

All hail King Mark the Procrastinator, ruler of the bounteous land of Nevergetyershittogether.

PS: The Avengers fucking rocks. Am I the first or the last person to have realised that?