Whoever would have thought that doing nothing could be so delightful.

This morning, I awoke to the prospect of - Nothing. Nowhere I had to go. No-one I had to see (oh, she's charming). No specific thing that I had to accomplish. What a thing. It was delicious. (As I write this, I'm hiding my 'to do' list - covered with notes in tiny writing to make it appear more approachable - under my filofax...)

Of course, for me, nothing doesn't translate into Nothing. I finished a very excellent book. I went to my gym class. (Two of us in the class. Two! No sloppily executed manoeuvres for us.) I raced to the cinema. I did a little work. I tended inoffensively to my 'to do' list. And I'm about to tuck into Mad Men again, to which I'm whole-heartedly addicted. None of this is relevant to the blog about which I found myself pompously pronouncing (self-important idiot!) that it was single-minded in purpose. (Delusional self-important idiot.) I'm just having a bit of a 'hoorah for a no one act January' moment. I can recommend it. (But don't tell Susan.)