The Delights of Doing Bugger All

It's now the third day of our two week break, and I've managed to relax for the first time



I can now sleep until 10am.  To be accurate, I can sleep until 5:23 (my normal waking time), get up and have a cup of tea, and then GO BACK TO BED AND SLEEP.

Absolute bliss.

Snuggling back among the still-warm sheets and duvet, and back besides my gently snoring (and sometimes dribbling) beloved.

The dawning realisation from my body, that it's allowed to relax and sleep.

The slow unclenching of the muscles as they warm and soften.

Bliss

SHEER BLOODY BLISS.

The problem of being a Scot, is that we're raised to think that the old Presbyterian values are inviolate.
The work ethic is incredibly strong, and every time I relax and do nothing, I start to feel guilty.

It's a simple series of equations.

1. Work = Good
2. Hard Work = Better
3. Parsimony = Good
4. Spending = Bad
5. Fun = Bad
6. Pleasure = Sin (Bad ² )
7. Sleep = Essential = Good (or at least Neutral)
8. Sleep-in = Pleasure = Sin
9. Education = Good

Following these rules (I like to think of them more as guidelines really) is part of every Scot's makeup and character, apart of course, those poor bastards who were raised differently. Like Catholics, Gypsies and other disreputable creatures. (This is not a biased opinion.  Anyone who reads my blog knows I'm not a biased man. Ask Ringo. It is however the opinion of my family, clan and sept, so must therefore be true)

Breaking these guidelines brings on the guilt, and it is really only in the last 5 years that I've managed to understand at a deep and emotional level, that relaxing can be good, and enjoyable.

So I'm happy nowadays in doing nothing.  Lying comfortably on the couch, a good book in my lap and an adequate Aussie Cabernet (Banrock Station) in my glass, and a little bowl of nibbles on the table and away from the bloody little shit-machine (the dog, not m'son) who snaffled the last load of salsa-flavoured chips and subsequently covered half the available deck area in slurry-like deposits.

But like all concepts of perfection, there has to be something imperfect, to add weight to the beauty of the ideal.

In my case the imperfection is my beloved.

Not that she is in any way wrong, you understand, just that there is something even stronger than the Scottish Presbyterian work ethic, and that's the Chinese Work-Them-Till-They-Drop ethic, used to such good effect by such leading names as Adidas, Nike, Apple etc.

My beloved thinks that if there is even one job unfinished then relaxation (on my part anyway) is verboten.

She is really inventive in this area.  I can be lying there, reading Chapter 4 and sucking at the vino, when she can appear; out of nowhere it feels.( Do ALL women have this power, or only those who have sold their souls to Old Nick.)  (Or perhaps their partner's souls.  Hmmm.  Could explain a lot)
She can invent spot an unfinished job at 300 paces.  Like one rootlet dangling over the raised flower bed railing, after I've weeded half the garden and dumped all the evil that is Japanese Anemone in the gully below the front deck. (It's actually our neighbour's gully, but he can't even see it through the thick bush, and he hasn't complained yet, AND it saves me a fortune in dumping fees at Silverstream Landfill, so it's got to be good (see Rules Guidelines 3 & 4 above)


However, after all the little jobs are done, back to relaxation.


I wonder how my students are doing on their holiday homework.


At the moment I don't really care


Bliss

Sheer bloody bliss

PS: You may have noticed that I've decapitalised my beloved. She just woke me up again at 10:15.  Seemingly too much sleep is bad.  Aparently.