Do you consider ‘spare time’ to be those moments when your diary/calendar is empty, and your To Do list is low and/or non-urgent, leading you to believe you might ‘actually get something done’? If so, I’d like to propose an alternative way of looking at it.
Spare time is actually not that different from a spare tyre.
Anyone who’s used a factory-fitted spare tyre will know that it’s not a like-for-like replacement. They’re usually slightly thinner, have “Max Speed 50mph” stamped on the side, and are not intended to sit there long.
Likewise, anyone who tries to achieve something productive during ‘spare time’ will discover that any plans suddenly seem to take longer…
At the start of this week, it seemed I’d be almost entirely at home, the frenzy of festivals and events from the last two months finally ebbing to an end. I also had very few work tasks to see to.
So! A chance to fill some gaps on my website, and complete the final 14% of my latest novel! Right?
It did not go like that.
The fun began Monday, when the electrician turned up 2hrs earlier than expected, just as I was completing an important online form I’d thought to get out the way before writing.
It was a worthwhile visit, for sure: he was assessing the Pepys House garage as a location for charging our EV, and took the opportunity to propose improvements for the sustainability of this 17th-century listed building – such as converting the out-of-the-way orchard into a solar farm. I’m very keen on any ideas to help Pepys House survive into the future.
However, this meant he stayed half an hour longer than anticipated. And when I then went back to that form I’d been filling? It had kicked me out, and wasn’t one of those that saved your progress, forcing me to return to the start of that hour-long task..
Thus my spare time didn’t make the miles planned…
Hints to this theme arose pretty much every day. On Wednesday, the usually swift vet visit (there and back within 25min) became an hour exactly.
Tito’s OK, by the way. We were getting his teeth looked at, owing to him recently losing a tooth and developing particularly foul breath – even for a cat. Turns out the ‘wet’ food he’s been eating, since last year’s hit-and-run made it harder for his favourite biscuits to pass through him, might’ve been worse for his dental health. Hard food knocks plaque away, y’see.
The solution? A toothbrush, and liver-flavoured toothpaste – the latter in a tube that bears remarkably similar branding to Colgate. Gotta be careful to always squeeze the right tube onto the right brush…
Saturday should’ve been my clearest day for writing. Ermma had an earlier-than-usual start, so I could even get my morning tea-serving chores out the way sooner.
Except, Ermma’s morning tea now overlapped with my usual time for visiting the barbershop. I needed a haircut before the storytelling I’d been booked to deliver on the Sunday.
I’d just have to visit the barbers after 9am. It only meant postponing my writing by an hour, though, right? If that? I was usually there and back in far less.
Turns out the queue for a barber is a lot longer in the middle of a Saturday. When I returned to Bella, I saw I’d outstayed my hour-long parking ticket… by half an hour!
If I get a fine now, that’ll be both the longest and most expensive visit to a barber since I last bleached my hair 12-odd years ago.
When Ermma returned from work, she suggested we go out for a meal to lighten my mood. I’d been tempted to suggest the same; that’s why we’re married. $;-)
Ermma was hungry, though, so we wanted to go somewhere we’d be served soon. We wanted a good seating atmosphere too, which ruled out Donald’s. A local restaurant we hadn’t yet visited had a good online menu, and it seemed spacious from the road – but I can’t tell you the name of the establishment, nor exactly where it was, because of the paragraphs that are about to follow…
I probably should’ve thought it auspicious when Ermma pointed out that it was the same chain as the place in Kent where we’d first gone for Gaggy’s wake. Back then, we’d had an hour-long wait before being told the oven had broken and our orders couldn’t be fulfilled…
This establishment told us from the off that their restaurant area was fully booked, so we’d have to sit and eat in the bar area. The latter was comfy, so we didn’t mind – but upon peeking, we saw barely half of seats in the restaurant area were in use the entire 2hrs we were there.
Yes: 2hrs. Of which 90min+ was waiting for our food.
Food which wasn’t even our first choice. The online menu was out-of-date, the chain owners having recently culled their tasty veggie options to leave only the bland ones.
Still, we shared some happy moments in each other’s company.
Sunday, most of my ‘spare time’ was spent caring for Ermma in the wake of the food poisoning she’d picked up from our Saturday night out…
Is there a moral to this week’s story? Perhaps, “Always make sure you’ve something in your diary – plan plan plan!”
What would you say? How do you ensure your spare time doesn’t go to waste? Or has something similar happened to you?
I’d love to discuss your thoughts with you, so please shoot me a reply. $:-)
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How do you ensure your spare time doesn’t go to waste? Or does it, as in my story, go achingly slower like a spare tyre?