Attempt, first

The indexing progresses apace. This is not strictly true, because in fact it progresses very slowly, but I am in the terrifying situation of having assignments to complete for the Conference. I am very excited about the Conference in July, but if we are to be utterly truthful, I have not yet written a single convincing index during the meagre course of my, um, course. There was one from a text about half a page long, which I spectacularly cocked up and that is it. I did get the answer right on an indexing question on University Challenge, and shouted at Jeremy Paxman because he was rude about it, calling Glenda Browne's IgNobel prizewinning article on the definite article 'a fatuous exercise', but I could only shout weak insults like "What rubbish Jeremy! You should know better! Indexing is actually, erm, you know - quite obviously - well, like, whatever...". Which was not the stoutest of defences.

So here I am, pacing my kitchen, trying to commit to paper an index, and I am groping about like a newborn puppy for post-it notes on which to write fleeting thoughts before they leave me. They say things like 'Proper nouns - index?' and 'Acronym then full term or full term then acronym???' If there are three question marks, I really am in trouble. I also have a load of my husband's business cards sitting around, on which I have written possible terms for inclusion in my index. Lots of little wordy tickets sitting about. I have, approximately 8 times, been scouring the text for references to a term, only to find I've been distracted by another entry I was thinking of making. And then I've gone - now, where was I? Oh no. What was I doing before this one? Oh no. To somewhat overdo the dog analogy, I'm like a spaniel following smells about in a wood. That's how spaniels get lost and end up in the water. No discipline, just joyous nosiness.

I took to sticking the business cards I was working on in my mouth whilst I consulted the text. This did not guarantee I would find it, since I didn't always realise I had put it in my mouth till I started puzzling out loud and it stuck to my lips like an old man's cigarette. I also found a few stuck in the text itself when they should have been alphabeticising themselves neatly on my kitchen table. Renegades.

It is so far a very undisciplined affair.

When the husband came in to find me bent over the table he greeted me in a physically lewd fashion and said index this. I said, yes but what under? Which lead to some rather unsavoury suggestions.

He did say flatteringly, after a glance at my notes and post-its and business cards, that he thinks indexing is Brain of Britain stuff, but then he is probably just trying to get me into bed.

Husband see also very distracting.