Six months ago, I entered the Writer's Weekly 24-Hour Short Story Contest, a contest where (brace yourself for a shock) you have to write a short story in 24 hours. For details of just what a joyful experience of unending loveliness this was for me, click here.

These contests are held every three months, not that that is of any interest to me, because of course I'd vowed never to enter again. Particularly after the judges committed an act of inexplicable outrageousness by somehow managing not to award me first prize.

The thing about lifelong vows though, is that you can't expect them to last more than six months. I successfully swerved the April contest, which coincided with Lisa's first ever visit to Shotley Gate (sentimentalists say 'aah' now), allowing me to escape my computer and go to the theatre instead. But three months on, and I seem to have a free weekend...

So in an act of extreme stupidity, I've registered for today's contest (which surprisingly still had some places left - possibly because most other people have learned their lesson and stuck to their vow). The 24 hours of hell starts at 6pm.

Of course, I might stand a better chance of producing a piece of quality creative writing if someone hadn't kept me up til 4am this morning talking on the phone...