So if someone had said to me a couple of weeks ago 'Anne, how would you like seven weeks with a perfect excuse for not doing housework or shopping, and all day to yourself to get on with your reading and your knitting, with generous swathes of time thrown in for you to surf the net and watch reams of TV I sort of suspect my response would have been 'Bring It On'.
This is, in fact, exactly the situation in which I currently find myself, and it's not the unalloyed pleasure you might imagine. Of course there is the slight problem that I'm basically immobile with a sore ankle and a heavy cast on one leg. Injecting myself daily with a blood thinner so that I don't end up with a DVT isn't a barrel of laughs either. But leaving the obvious to one side, it's much more difficult than I imagined it would be to settle down and do all this wonderful stuff I normally don't have enough time for.
Reading - either I don't like the book or I'm too tired to take in the graphs and charts, not to mention finding Wordsworth, even in quotable nuggets, hard to take when I'm feeling 100%, let alone when I'm below par.
TV - remarkably I have discovered that even the best of property programs can become boring, and do you know how many repeats of unwatchable stuff gets churned out on daytime TV? The evenings are almost as bad. As for radio - Radio 4 is shortly going to get a whole post to its pretty little self - and it's not going to be a complimentary one.
Knitting - second sock syndrome. And a sweater on the needles that looks like it might be far too big, but as I'm doing it in the round I can't try it on to check. Both hugely discouraging.
I was chatting to a friend last night and we agreed it's all because I've got no choice. If I could choose to sit and read as opposed to doing anything else I'd probably be happy curled up with the books. But as I have no choice, even the most satisfying of occupations loses its savour.
Contrary things, humans.
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