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An idle moment on the Jurassic Coast

In every walk-round on Escape there’s a half hour where I get to sit down in someone else’s kitchen or front room (wherever I won’t be in shot) and mull while the homebuyers ponder the property.

You can get quite a bit done in half an hour. At the moment I’m writing my scripts for this weekend on Radio 3. In half an hour – concentrated – I can knock off three links. But only if concentrated.

Mostly, I doodle.

Or fiddle with photos.

I worry about the (or more accurately, my) drive to productivity. It’s as if there’s a little neural slave driver deep in the folds of my brain who won’t stop cracking a cruel whip. Years of meditation and ayahuasca haven’t managed to dislodge him – yet.

Do I really need to be so sleekly productive? I can never lie in bed snoozing – even at the weekend – and somewhere in the fields of childhood I listened too intently to the voice that said laziness and waste were the two greatest sins.

I guess that’s just the Protestant Work Ethic. Whispering in the inner ear: not enough, make more, never rest.

Oh, that’s what it is…

I’m going to leave my links and photograph lilies.

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