Every week, I drive up to London from home in North Cornwall or drive to Exeter and take the train to London, work for four days, then come home again. Then I get three days at home. Sounds a reasonable routine except that I rarely if ever take a holiday and as a result, I get more and more knackered. Well, I am taking a week off work, so from last Thursday I have officially been on holiday. And boy is it difficult.
The trouble is that none of use can simply switch off. Over these past few days, I have found that whenever I lie on my bed to read or go and sit in the garden just to enjoy listening to the birds and smelling the fresh air, within minutes, I feel I should get up and do something. But I don't have to do anything. So I calm myself down, explain to myself that I am now on holiday and that doing nothing is the whole point of it all, until barely two, three minutes later the urge returns: do something.
Most of you will be familiar with this, and most of you will know, as I do, that day by day, as we relax more, that urge to engage in activity for the sake of it, generally a symptom of how unrelaxed we are, diminishes, so that after a week we can begin to relax properly. However, by then I shall be due back at work.
Solution? I am taking another two weeks off work at the end of September. And I shall not stay at home.