The first shall be the last

The look on Tony Harrison's face was a mixture of disdain and profound irritation. I'd let him down and my explanation seemed fanciful at best.

It was November 1979 and Paul McCartney was coming back to Liverpool to play a series of concerts at the Royal Court Theatre. Tickets were going on sale on the Sunday and Tony and I had planned our trip into town with military precision. He was bringing the salmon paste sandwiches and I was getting the bottles of Tizer (an orange, fizzy drink containing enough e-numbers to keep a whole generation of teenagers wired throughout their school days). I would meet him on the 5am train because he was getting on a couple of stops earlier. Simple.

Well, it should have been. I was so excited about everything that I couldn't sleep and, ludicrously, decided to walk for half an hour to get on the train at the station prior to mine. I can still feel the sensation of the wind blasting through my forlorn ginger locks as I stood on the platform with the train barrelling mercilessly by. It was Sunday and there was no service to that station. I'd been too prepared, too keen and it had backfired.

You'd think we'd learn these life lessons, well, for life - but, alas, no. As mentioned on these hallowed pages recently, I've just had an appointment at Fuengirola police station to apply for a new TIE Spanish residency card. I'd prepared all the paperwork well in advance and would offer the oven-ready pile of documents a smug little wink every time I passed it in the hallway. Everything had been checked and triple-checked to within an inch of its life - nothing could go wrong. The grand day arrived.

“Good morning, TIE card renewal , please.”

“Good morning. Passport?... Photographs?... This form?.. That form?... The other form?”

I was producing everything from my specially prepared - if a little sad - folder with the proudest of flourishes.

“...and the other two pages that belong with that last form?” My heart hit the floor. In my haste to make the bank payment two weeks earlier, it seems I'd taken only one of the three pages with me.

“I'm afraid you'll have to come back...” I rolled up the many remaining documents with the express intention of beating myself about the head with them.

“...in ten or 15 minutes when you've gone to the bank around the corner. Here's a fresh form.” I resisted the urge to sweep this delightful woman up in my arms and carry her triumphantly out onto the street and legged it off to the bank alone. So, all was well thanks to her understanding but the truth was I'd been overly keen and overly prepared and it had backfired. Again.

From now on I think I'll just bumble through life, leaving everything until the last minute. It seems to work for some people. Anyway, must be off to send this article in - it's only 72 hours until deadline.

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