Isn’t it funny how hobbies that you take up as a source of relaxation and pleasure can end up being your master? A little place in the country or at the seaside; a boat; a vintage car; golf.
Or a blog.
My wife and I have spent much of the last couple of weeks doing DIY – she painting things and I changing door handles, she finding that the French can’t make paint: ‘Who in this century ever heard of having to stir paint before use?’, while I find that it’s not just a matter of switching over handles. The key-holes don’t line up with the old locks, so I have to change the locks - but the new locks are smaller than the old ones, so the gaps have to be filled with wood. And my bricolage (DIY in French) vocabulary is barely adequate even in English. You see what I mean.
I can feel your sympathy coming over in waves: ‘Poor things,’ I hear you say. ‘Your little apartment overlooking the Mediterranean needs a bit of attention. My heart bleeds,’ I hear you say. I appreciate your concern.
But you have to accept the general concept. I used to know a guy who had a yacht at Annapolis, and every week-end – every single frigging weekend - he would drive down there from Philadelphia to scrape its bottom or paint lines or whatever it’s called. Sailing? Don’t be silly, he never had time.
Golfers who get up at 5am in order to get a place on the course: quadriplegic horse-riders (that's the riders, not the horses), mountaineers, and so on. It’s mad.
And now it’s the blog. Waking up in a fever each morning thinking, ‘Oh my God, what am I going to write about today?’ And here we are, nearly midnight, and I still don’t know.
Ever read the Robin Maugham book, The Servant, about a guy who hires a manservant - who ends up taking over his woman, his house, his money, his life? That’s it: the old IHS – the Insidious Hobby Syndrome.
Bloggers of the world, we must unite in revolt against…
Sorry, I have to leave it there – got to let the wife out of the bathroom. The door handle’s stuck.