Isn't Creative Writing A Wonderful Hobby?

Now, I have to admit I'm new to this creative writing business. I've only been at it a little over a week. The stuff I did before - all those turgid articles about the European Union Constitution or Trans-European infrastructure networks - was about as creative as a bobbin ligger going about his trade (my father used to be a bobbin ligger so I know about such things). Even the creativity involved in putting together these random postings is about on par with the creativity of a bus conductor (At one stage in my life I was a bus conductor so I know about such things). But, a week ago, I picked up a leaflet announcing the Calderdale Short Story competition and my life was transformed. I became a creative writer. And isn't it a wonderful hobby. It took me just a few lengths of the swimming pool to come up with an idea (I think such ideas are called a plot, but I'm not sure). And then all I had to do was to write the whole thing up in less than 3,000 words. And this is where the true beauty of the hobby kicked in. On Day Two, rather than starting writing I decided to tidy my office. It was a job I had been meaning to do for some time and I was really pleased about having found the enthusiasm to tackle it. I was going to start writing on Day Three when I remembered that I needed to transfer a collection of old utility bills out of the "current" filing cabinet into the "archives" box. It was a job well-done. Day Four and Day Five were the weekend and I devoted it to "quality time" with my family. My son accused me of following him around the house like a demented puppy and my wife told me in no uncertain terms what to do with myself when I awoke her from her weekend nap for the third time. Still quality time is quality time. On Day Six I decided to re-arrange my collection of single malt whisky - for some time now I have been running out of space on my shelf. This was a big operation and involved dusting and cataloguing each bottle. I managed to create some space by finishing off one or two bottles which only had a finger or two left in them. On Day Seven, I wasn't feeling too well so I decided to do nothing at all. As Day Eight dawned I was determined to start the old creative writing thing, but then discovered that the daisy trees on my balcony needed dead-heading. Not being sure how to approach this task I researched it on the internet and one thing led to another... I would really like to start today, but there is the next part of Fat Dog To The Big Apple to write (mustn't put things off, you know). Tomorrow I have to got to Sheffield, then it's the weekend again and then it's Monday. The diary is free for Monday. On Monday I can start my creative writing. That is, of course, as long as I don't get an invitation from someone to visit their worm farm. Come on, someone out there must have a worm farm. Please.