Yesterday was the Trowell Writers' Trust annual awards day. I had an entry in the short story section and I thought I knew exactly where it would come. I've had so many second places over the last few years that I knew it would be runner-up. I could predict this with the same certainty that within one hour of switching the telly on tonight I'll see either a meerkat, a fat tenor or both.
This post was going to tell you how the result was a foregone conclusion because of the many second places I've had in this very same competition over the last few years. You were also going to be informed about my second place in Writers' News last year and the same result in the National Association of Writers' Groups the year before. To top it all off I've been narrowly pipped to the post for two job opportunities recently so excuse me if I'm feeling like the perennial bridesmaid.
I sat there listening to them read out the commended authors followed by highly commended and then honours and still my name hadn't been called out. Then it came to the top three and, maybe it was the excitement of the moment, but I suddenly felt optimistic. Why should I come second again just because it's happened so many times before. It doesn't always follow does it? After all, aren't I always going on about being persistent and never giving up? So I crossed my fingers and guess what? I came third.