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going to work for me if I actually read it but I hadn’t got the time to read it so I was a bit stuck.
            I woke up my computer and typed Mark Forster’s name into Google hoping to find an audio version of Get Everything Done so I could multi task. Instead I found something far more useful: the author’s email address. Within minutes I was composing a message to him:
     
    Dear Mr Forster
    My name’s Mike Gayle and I’ve got a list of 1,277 things I need to do before my next birthday. I was wondering whether you might be free at some point quite soon to have a chat in person about what I’m attempting to do.
    Cheers
    Mike Gayle
     
    ‘Do you think he’ll reply?’ Claire was reading the message over my shoulder.
            ‘I’m hoping so.’ I turned over the book and examined his author photo. He looked cheery, the sort of man that you’d definitely trust with your car keys. ‘He certainly looks like the sort of man who would write back.’
            ‘So, are you going to carry on with the List in the meantime?’
            ‘No way. I’m on a roll so my plan is to use my time wisely and head off right now for a chat with another, more local, expert but one whose field is more organisational. And I’ll give you a clue: she’s Canadian, married with two kids under three, and easily, hands down, the most organised person we know.’
     
    It was just after eight by the time I arrived at Alexa’s. After ushering me into her front room, she headed off to get us some coffee while I looked around, wearing different eyes from the ones I had worn here on previous occasions. Suddenly everything spoke of Alexa’s organisational skills. The books were all in alphabetical order with the bottom shelf reserved for oversized books. I wondered idly if Alexa (whose postgraduate degree had been in Librarianship) had also made miniature library tickets for them all; on the table next to the sofa, fanned out in a decorative fashion that you might find in an upmarket hairdressers, were half a dozen magazines: Martha Stewart’s Living , Oprah Winfrey’s O, Canadian Living , Canadian Interiors , Patchwork Monthly and Red ; in the corner of the room were three pairs of shoes all lined up in ascending size from left to right. This was a woman who knew about being organised. This was a woman who would definitely be able to assist me on my mission to conquer the List.
     
    ‘So come on then,’ she said, cradling her coffee as she leaned back in her armchair. ‘You were very cryptic on the phone. What exactly can I do to help you?’
            ‘Well, you know that list? The one with the 1,277 things on it? Well, I’ve sort of run into trouble and I need advice about how to be organised and given that you’re the most organised person I know  . . .’
            ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly  . . .’
            ‘I would. I bet if I went into your loft right now I wouldn’t find half a cast-iron fireplace, would I?’
            ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ replied Alexa, baffled. ‘Would I find one in yours?’
            I raised my eyebrows in a show of guilt. ‘All I’m trying to demonstrate is that you’re organised. I bet you even know exactly where your birth certificate is.’
            ‘Top left-hand drawer of the sideboard in the dining room.’
            ‘And how about last year’s tax return?’
            ‘In a box file underneath my side of the bed.’
            ‘And what about . . .?’ I struggled to find something obscure, ‘. . . I know, what about . . . a pen? We can never find a pen for love nor money in our house. So come on, Alexa, show me a pen.’
            She plucked one from the shelf behind my head and handed it to me.
            ‘I got sick of not being able to find a pen when I wanted one so once a week, usually on a Tuesday, I go around every room and leave pens at pre-designated pen-dropping spots. I know it’s not