I finished typing, apart from a few books and I’ve finished the condition report. Next, I will print out the labels and proof read, then it’ll be time to take photos and prepare an advertisement, then add the labels. Then everything can wait for a week while I go to Wales for a break. In theory, it’s all sorted. I have two clients to email, though one can wait until I get back, because he’s thinking about the reserve on his china. I have time, I’m pacing myself.
People react differently to deadlines, of course. Some are wonderfully organised and crack on straight away, others leave it until the last minute and I’m in between. It’s possible to leave it too late. Weeza had that happen once, when she was working in London. A colleague didn’t get started on a project until it was too late and she finally had to own up. I don’t know what happened to her, but the whole office rallied round, with two days notice. They worked until late, both nights, the boss sent out for pizza and they were taken home by taxi. The deadline was met, the client didn’t know, it was done well. At least the person who should have done it did own up, but it was only by goodwill and professionalism that a damaging situation was averted.
Last year, Tim was going to do the photographs and then crack on with the catalogue, starting on the Tuesday. He died on Sunday. I had to travel down to Reading and deal with immediate matters, then come back and do it myself, though darling, kind Indigo Roth came to visit me and, when I asked for advice on focussing the camera, he took over and did all the photography for me. The catalogue was a steep learning curve, but I did it.
I’ll be in Pembrokeshire alone, the anniversary of that Sunday. I am finding things very difficult at present and I can’t help that. I found myself wishing I could find it easier, this evening and heard a voice asking if I wanted to forget Tim? No, of course not, so I just have to bear it somehow. I feel wretched, though there’s no benefit in dwelling on that.