Ten years ago, possibly even fifteen, I was asked to find a book for someone. You’re in the business, they said, it should be easy. I don’t remember now what the title was or the author’s name, or even remotely what it was about, but I know it had been written by some reasonably distant relative of theirs and they were very curious to read it.

So curious, so intently interested, that to this very day I am blamed for not being able to find it for them.

Except, I did.

More than that, I found it in the first half an hour of searching, at absolute most.

Only, this book was self-published by whoever it was, so it wasn’t in any bookstores, wasn’t on Amazon, and since they weren’t selling it on their own website either, you had to think it was going to struggle to become a bestseller. But this someone wanted to read it, so I gave them the sole and single and unarguable solution: they’d have to ask their relative for a copy.

For whatever reason, though, they didn’t want to do that. Okay, it’s hardly my problem, I did the job, let them do what they will, or what they won’t.

It is a long time ago now so you’d hoped that maybe they caved and asked, or that surely they had forgotten it as thoroughly as I had. But I suspect not because the last time it was mentioned, I was again criticised for not finding this book. I had let them down, apparently. I failed them and I am a continuing disappointment.

Sometimes the only winning move is to walk away.

Totally unrelated, this is the 800th Self Distract blog post. Writing to you is part of my Friday mornings, you are part of my Friday mornings, and you have been for such a long time: thank you.