Procastipost

A vast box arrived yesterday, that surely could have housed a Shetland pony, but in fact contained a A3 scanner. It’s a behemoth yoke, moored on my desk like a cruise liner. Hey, when peak oil hits/we’re all flooded/the world fries to a crisp/insert apocalyptic scenario of your choice here, I’ll have something to sail off on. In the meantime, it works well in its intended function of a scanner, I think, despite the Soviet era design and Sputnik-like sound effects.

So, no excuse now, eh? Nothing to do but to do it. In fact this post is in itself a form of procrastination. Gah.