PROCRASTINATION IS THE NAME OF THE GAME LINDA MITCHELMORE

Oh dear, now I have all the time in the world I'm finding the impetus to write has left the building. I don't have a deadline - maybe if I did that would help. Who among us knows what the book scene is going to be like when we come out of this coronavirus nightmare? How many of us will have lost someone near and dear to us although, of course, I hope with all my heart we don't. But it's a possibility. Especially with some of us being of a certain, vulnerable age. Is writing something new going to be worth the effort if the bottom has fallen out of the paperback market? Already magazines and newspapers are taking a bashing with fewer and fewer people by the day going out to buy them. I am almost halway through a new book. It's set at Christmas, which is now a scary nine months away. Are there going to be any editors and publishers and printers around to see any new work to its conclusion? Already it is becoming obvious it's going to be a very different Christmas to any we have experienced before. My logical self tells me to sit down at the computer and just get on with it. If nothing else it will an escape from thinking about what might happen to those I love if they are unlucky enough to catch this virus. And then, when it's all over, and shops are open and we can meet our friends for lunch I will be at the top of the pile for publication. But I don't know that many of us are thinking logically at the moment ... especially mothers and grandmothers. So what have I been doing in the procrastination stakes? Well, there's housework for a start - my home has never been so clean and there are those who have accused me of being houseproud in the past although I am really far from that.

And while we're being told it's okay to get exercise once a day if we keep close to our homes I've been doing that for an hour, quite early before most people get going. I have a condition where I need to walk so must while I can. This isn't a recent photo, by the way, as I would never touch the railing now - not worth the risk.

And I'm one of the lucky ones as I have a garden. I can't begin to think how horrid it must be to be holed up in a tiny flat or in some house that never sees the sun, or to be next door to the neighbours from hell. As the weather this week has been nothing short of spectacular here the garden is where I've been spending a lot of time. Weeding mostly. The dandelions don't know there's a crisis on. I've had to ration myself with the jobs though or there'll be nothing to do next week and the week after. The grass will grow but as my garden is steep that's my husband's job. A plus has been that the birds in the wood behind my house are singing their little hearts out now the mating season is upon them. I'm beginning to wonder if the mating season is upon couples holed up together and there's going to be a sharp spike in births in nine months or so time?

And cooking. I've engaged with my inner Nigella and baked a cake or three, sharing some with elderly neighbours - using surgical gloves to handle it. When the flour and fat runs out, well, so will the cakes. But we can enjoy for now.

None of us has been in this situation before so everything we do is untested. We can only hope that what we do - or what we don't do - gets us through. Keep safe, everyone.