Do Nothing Day

I awoke this Sunday morning, wiped the drool from my chops, glanced at my watch, and turned my thoughts toward the day ahead.

Something was odd. Something didn't seem right. By my reckoning, for the first time in ages, we had absolutely no plans for the day in front of us. No work, no social engagements, no activities for the kids, no jobs around the house, no nothing. Doubting myself, I thought hard. Aside from returning Lowri's friend Portia to her parents after a sleepover, our agenda was empty.

I hopped out of bed, silently chastising myself for thinking of Portia as if she were a library book, and headed to the kitchen, with hope in my heart.

I found the Minister for Home Affairs outside, under the pergola, engaged in a telephone conversation. Judging by the time of day and her lip-speed, it was a call from the U.K.

If this were so, then I may have to wait some time to discover whether or not my hopes of a free day were to be dashed. I paced up and down the kitchen, scanning my minuscule, short-term memory for any recollections of arrangements that I may have overlooked. I checked the diary on my mobile too. Nothing. Zilch. Squat. Sweet F.A. My hopes were rising.

I looked through the patio window, the wife was still going at it hammer and tongs. While I was waiting, I allowed myself to think about how I should spend a completely vacant day. The pub? Hmmm, I could do worse, but no. A round of golf perhaps? Hmmm, tempting, but no, too busy on Sundays and the flies are growing in number.

Then it came to me - a day on the sofa, flicking through the channels on our new telly whilst shovelling scooby snacks into my mouth, pausing only for a nap around lunch-time and then more of the same in the arvo. Homer Heaven!

My excitement was growing, but at the forefront of my mind was the knowledge that women all over the world love nothing more than scuppering such bone-idle plans.

The wife being on the phone allowed me to ponder on how best I should broach the subject. Should I meekly ask what we had planned for the day, allowing her time to come up with no end of chores around the house for me to do? Or should I go straight on the attack by stating that we have nothing planned and just hope not to be corrected?

I opted for the latter as she came into the kitchen, still-hot phone in hand.

'We've got jack-shit to do today,' I said manly.

'Have we?' I added meekly.

I think she could sense the hope within me as she carefully considered what I'd said.

After what seemed like an age, she said, ' No, you're right. I don't think we have'

I walked away, concealing my inner joy, but half expecting a post-script statement beginning along the lines of 'Oh no, I forgot. We have to...'

I increased my pace to get out of earshot should such a statement be made, but nothing was forthcoming. Yes! It was on!

The rest of the day went exactly as I had planned. I love our new telly and I love food.

I had plenty of both.