The joy of doing nothing

So. Sunday.

I’ve spent the best part of today horizontal, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Even a teeny, tiny bit. I’ve had to fight *really hard against the urge to do anything today. For ten days I’ve worked my butt off to get organised in the new place and get the old place straight, in the vain hope that I’ll get my deposit back at the end of the month. Yeah, let’s see how that goes…..

So today, after popping a couple of Dormidina last night after the cinema, I woke at seven thirty, looked at the clock (and my Instagram likes), turned over and went back to sleep until ten. Shuffled to the kitchen, flicked on the kettle and continued shuffling to the lounge. Because I can shuffle around this flat, rather than spinning three sixty, perpetually. Spinning and spinning in the ‘hall’ of the Gotic flat. Kitchen, lounge, bedroom, toilet, kitchen, lounge, bedroom, toilet, kitchen……

Cuppa and sausage sandwich in hand, I took up residence on the sofa and hunkered down for the day. I struggled against the urge to hang anything, hammer, clean, brush or adjust. I watched a bit of political news, Strictly and interspersed naps in between bingeing the last three episodes of Stranger Things 2. I decided I should probably take the bins down, just about an hour ago, and pop to the corner shop for supplies. Haribo, natch. But please rest assured, I’m back now in my house trousers and under the furry throw. Not a metaphor.

(I imagine two post-war neighbours chatting over the fence:

N1. ‘ere, you ‘eard about Sheila? Frank says she’s under the furry throw… ‘

N2. ‘Noooooo! Geraway wi’ ya…..’ )

La Fira Barcelona-sundown

Humans are weird and feel guilty about the strangest things, taking a little time out shouldn’t be one of them. Look, there are a myriad other things to worry about: hurling your empty booze bottles in the general bin one by one, to avoid any embarrassing telltale clanking, calling the selfying teenage boy on the metro a bellend inside your head, and standing still on the wrong side of the travelator on the way to the platform. Lying down for a day isn’t a crime, and putting your jeans on and throwing a jumper over the tee-shirt you slept in to pop out for a breath of fresh air, isn’t either. I haven’t even got a hangover to blame! Returning within ten minutes because it’s nippy and you didn’t bother with a jacket, is OK too. You went outside, and that’s what counts.

Happy as a pig in proverbial……… In my view, vertical is massively overrated.

*like, a little bit


3 thoughts on “The joy of doing nothing

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