My parting gift from LouLou on her recent trip to London was a book from the Penguin Great Ideas Series. Robert Louis Stevenson's 'An Apology For An Idler' was her choice and how apt. The blurb says this:
An irresistible invitation to reject the work ethic and enjoy life's simple pleasures (such as laughing, drinking and lying in the open air), Robert Louis Stevenson's witty and seminal essay on the joys of idleness is accompanied here by his writings on, among other things, growing old, visiting unpleasant places and the overwhelming experience of falling in love.Everything about this appeals to me (particularly the laughing, drinking, open air, and the bit about love). I started reading this tiny tome on an overground train from Gospel Oak to Kew, on the way to visit The Boss and her broken ribs. I was Laughing Out Loud (you know, like the young folks do) on the train. He's a funny guy, that RLS. Must read Treasure Island again. Can't remember any of the pirate gags.
I read some stuff whilst busy idling, so I'm vaguely aware idling has been adopted by many media types as a thing to be broadcast from the rooftops, or even fancy places in that West London. I've also an idea that the brother of lovely music journo Will Hodgkinson (Tom) may be a leading light and advocate of it. Maybe I should join some academy and celebrate idling with others of my ilk?!?!
No. You're alright, ta. I'll continue my lifelong idle on my own. (ref: Early Doors / Tommy. Idler and curmudgeon supreme). I'm a Lone Idler. I have no need of a Tonto. Well, not for idling purposes anyway.
I spent a precious afternoon with The Boss (my admiration of this bird can only grow - in the face of a tragic accident of mammoth proportion, she remains cheery, pragmatic and pretty brilliant, really. I took her some biscuits I'd baked in the shape of her initial 'T'. A friend popped round last night to see them cooling on the tray and remarked "why have you baked cookies in the shape of a penis?" I'm not Delia Fucking Smith. It's the thought... etc.). Sat on her bed, chewed the fat (and those cock-shaped cookies) and talked about shit. Top idling.
Not sure if I should mention it, but The Boss showed me a picture Dean had sent her from his hospital bed in Swansea. Once seen, this picture can't be forgotten. I wasn't sure what I was looking at. Neither was she when she first saw it. Turns out it's a picture of one of Dean's balls. His testicle. It's pitch black. Dean is a white man. I've seen the balls of white men before. They aren't this colour. I was pretty shocked. Until The Boss tells me that Dean has described his balls as "a pair of beetroots". I'm now laughing my head off. This from a man who could have died from his injuries only a week ago. I texted him that I've seen his ball. He says he'd "send a picture of the shaft, but it has tubes coming out of it". I suppose he has quite a lot of time for idling at the moment. Top bloke. I love him, I really do.
NB: no picture of Dean's black ball was inserted here
Whilst idling on the bed of The Boss in Kew, Blondie was busy in Clapton sending me pictures of us fannying about in our youth. Boss howled as she saw pics of me and Blondie dressed à la Pallenberg et Faithfull circa mid 90s. Blondie is going through her own health hell at the moment. My lovely old friend is another testament to a person with huge balls (not black, like Dean's, but truly impressive nonetheless). Between Blondie, Smiff and me, there's been a biblical amount of idling over the years, and much of it has involved talking bollocks (not about Dean's black one, mind) and eating cake / biscuits / buns. The finest idling known to man (or small Northern women).
Followed this on my return from Kew with a late evening meeting with Lady Married, taking in a nightcap glass of red. I'm kinda off the booze at the moment (this may not last - She Keeps Bees tomorrow and ATP curated by Portishead this weekend). I tell her about the RLS book. She's a big fan of idling, having spent the last few months doing the very same. To reiterate, the difference between lazy and idling is this: lazy means you cannot actually be arsed to do anything at all. Idling is spending your time on pursuits totally self-indulgent, enjoyable, perhaps pro-active (not sure what that is - just trying to chuck in a bit of modern terminology) but highly unlikely to be for any monetary gain. She spent months reading great books, learning stuff off the internet, looking out the window. I'm a massive fan of looking out the window myself. The Ex used to come home from work and I'd be sitting there, in silence, doing just that. When he asked what I was up to, I'd reply "looking out the window". It always seemed to make him laugh. He got it.
