Nothing. You hear me? Sweet FA.
I had a little previous experience but this past week I've graduated to a new level of doing nothing. Give you an example. For a period of four days I couldn't even locate a pen. The two I always carry in my bag disappeared and I didn't stir myself to buy a replacement. Seeing I hadn't packed a notebook there didn't seem much point.

We were staying in an area of great historical interest, not to mention world-famous gastronomy and scenic beauty. Or so it says in the books. I decided to take their word for it. The guide said 'go see the amphitheatre'. My body said, 'Naaah.'

So here was my day.
Get up, possibly as late as 9am. Unheard of, this. I actually shook my watch the first morning it happened.
After breakfast I might take a walk into town through the vineyards. Or not. My motivation was to buy the best figs I ever tasted in my life. But I wouldn't describe it as an irresistible urge.
But walk or not, always a swim before lunch. Then, when I saw my mate Louise twirling a teatowel of damp salad greens around her head, I knew it was time to get out, drip-dry and amble up to the trough.
After lunch, a siesta. Incredibly, after a 9 hour night I still managed a deeply blissful afternoon zizz. Followed by reading beneath a pine tree, more swimming and making myself available for a glass of chilled wine around 6.30.

I read four novels, talked to my friends and did a lot of thinking. I bought nothing, wrote nothing, regret nothing. Except perhaps the hundredweight of full fat cheese I consumed.

And now it's Monday morning. Time to throw the suitcase into the back of the closet, put on my writer's uniform and sharpen my pencils. Am I up for it? I better be. You should see my desk.