Home from work? Snoozing while the Intrepids catch up with the One Show. Just back from a quick stroll up the village to check the property prices in the estate agents' window? Have a little kip: forty winks, just resting my eyezzzzzzz....
What is wrong with me?
I can only attribute it to the weather. I think I might be hibernating.
And why not? It's freezing out there. What could be better than hiding away in your own little world, the place where the propped-up pillows and snuggly duvet offer such magnificent relief, such comfort and warmth, from the harsh freezing air and the pervasive damp of winter? My dreams are never cold - there are palm trees and oceans and my old school library and hot crumpets and Louis Armstrong and the moon made out of cheesecake and, well, lots of stuff... but it's never the frozen wasteland that greets me outside the front door in the real world.
Hibernation might also explain my slowness in picking the best response to text messages.
"Hi Matt... just wondering if you mind me jumping on your piano this eve [at tonight's leaders' meeting]? Let me know if that's OK with you?"
"Wouldn't it be better if you just used your fingers?" I almost replied. It was one of those moments when the ensuing conversation played out in my mind like a game of chess, move by possible move. In the end I didn't think my humour would be appreciated so after about ten minutes of deliberation... I just typed, "Yep. No worries" and hit send.
Ten minutes was way too long, wasn't it? Let's blame hibernation. My metabolic rate, my processing speed, my sense of humour and my ability to be just normal have slowed right down. I am asleep for the winter.
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