I think my painting queue is taunting me

From where I sit in my study, I can see the space on my work table that is set up for painting. I haven't had much chance to paint this week, and I feel like it's mocking me. The thing about good weather in England is that you do a lot of spray priming when it happens, because you know you can't count on it continuing. Which is all well and good -- as is the fact that I received a bunch of models lately, partly as a treat for myself in a sale and partly as a pair of generous gifts. But the result is this: 

As much as my think of myself as "not a real Oldhammer," there is a bunch of good Oldhammer stuff on there: a couple of 80s Gretchin, six 80s Doctor Who figures, an Ogre, couple of Marine scouts, a Chaos Dreadnought, a Melnibonean ... maybe I am. But there's also some of those Foundry Pickford space orcs, a bunch of whimsical kitbashes, the beginning of the "bits box warband," and the ever-present Reaper Bones. And I can't paint any of it at the moment because my attention is required on a different gaming project -- kind of a dream gig for me, actually, so I know I'm sort of complaining that my diamond shoes are too tight. 

Also I know that eight million painters will immediately go "you call that a full painting table?!" and they'll be right. So there's that.