Lots of people talk to me about this book they call 'The Secret'.
It is one of those books that makes promises and is categorised beside the 'Self-Harm' section, under 'Self-Help' (I'm always getting those two mixed up).
Fans of 'The Secret' claim it provided them with the tools they required to pull the universe around to working in their favour. It landed them their dream job, got them through exams, made them a better person.
The trick, it appears is to tell the world what you want and then prepare yourself, i.e. "World, I want a bicycle, look I've bought the gear and everything".
For the single girl, it advises that the way to land yourself a man is to park to one side of the driveway, sleep on one side of the bed and clear out half the clothes in your wardrobe.
In other words, you make room in your life for that boy, and you ready yourself for his snoring, his taking over your closet space and his complaining that you can't park properly.
There are two hopes of me ever reading this book. One involves the unlikely scenario of one day finding there are no other words in the world left for me to read. The other involves being captured and held hostage and subjected to torture methods that integrate the use of it and other books as a means of extracting information from me.
However, I do have some time for a 'Field of Dreams' approach to getting my new kidney. I'm not talking about taking a scalpel to myself to show Beaumont I'm really, really ready for a transplant, but about positively projecting my hope that I will have a transplant by this time next year into action of some sort.
So I have taken some tentative steps in this direction. I have decided to start making plans for next summer. First on the list is to send in my application for tickets for Wimbledon. Maybe I will also make rough blueprints for a long holiday.
"If you build it, they will come"