Ash Wednesday

I went to a rather nice Mass yesterday, with the nowadays obligatory but nevertheless rather nice Allegri Miserere and the Byrd 5-part. Unfortunately I managed to miss half the service by the unusual expedient of having done nothing whatsoever all day except sit aorund waiting to go to Mass. Am I the only person who is only ever late when they are early? Being in good time is the utter death knell to punctuality in my life. I get it into my head that I have plenty of time, and then I always think I can fit one more bit of pottering in before it's time to go, and I can't, and I'm late. Whereas if time is pressing on me then I hop about to make sure I'm where I'm meant to be and that I know where I'm going and when and have all my bits and doings. Leisure is my enemy. Roll on the end of Reading Week (a sort of midterm holiday - I love the idea that in the life of a University, "Reading Week" should signify a break from the norm).
Right, I'm about to do it again, but this time with sour apple martinis in the bar down the street. I have been home for two hours, and now I need to be there in 17 minutes and I'm not even dressed. It is actually ridiculous.