More effort required? (127 days to go…)

by Max Akroyd

I know it’s a day of rest but this is ridiculous. Around breakfast time the cry went up from our five year old: “Mom! I need help getting dressed” When his progress was checked, he was wearing one item of clothing: a back-to-front sock. I went outside to get the eggs.

Having said that, some freedoms are there to be enjoyed when you’re adrift on an island of your own land. There’s the freedom to dress like a tramp. There’s the freedom to hear the fanfare of sunrise and the requiem of sunset. Best of all, there’s the freedom to urinate in your garden. (I accept this may apply more to male peasants…)

But the freedom from the restrictions of the 9 to 5 are different, puzzling. Not so much a comfort zone challenge as a startling ejection. I had no idea – until I retreated by a few centuries – that my brain is shackled in the dungeon of the industrial day. Don’t you find it illuminating that a pig is tirelessly busy when there’s something interesting in front of it and sleeps when there isn’t? It has no concept of work or leisure. Imagine a day with its artificial boundaries dissolved.

Potato trenches: Monday to Saturday

I wish I could.

(Exit, pursued by “the priest and the doctor in their long coats running over the fields.” )