I Count It As A Certainty That

Deleting 200 Spams A Day Is A Drag. And I Was Checking My Email Constantly, Rather Than Getting On With My Real Work, Which Is Reading And Writing. Email Was Becoming A Distraction, A Burden Rather Than A Liberation.

I Could Happily Lean On A Gate All The Livelong Day, Chatting To Passers-by About The Wind And The Rain. I Do A Lot Of Gate-leaning While I Am Supposed To Be Gardening; Instead Of Hoeing, I Lean On The Gate, Stare At The Vegetable Beds And Ponder.

My Idea Of Childcare At Festivals Is To Sit At A Trestle Table With An Ale While The Kids Run Around And Make Up Their Own Games.

All Poets Are Idlers, Even If All Idlers Are Not Poets.

Meetings, Clearly, Can Take Place Anywhere, And Wouldn't It Be Nice To See Your Coworkers Lounging On The Grass With Their Shoes Off?