Confronted with acres of free time, it was easy to fall into the trap of doing absolutely nothing for entire days on end, except that I didn’t regard it as a trap; it was rather pleasant. Being unemployed in London was certainly better than being from Nagorno Karabakh, or the marshlands in Southern Iraq, or Bosnia Herzegovina.
I wrote myself a long list of DIY tasks. The first of which would be to take up the old carpets, hire a floor stripper and sand the floor.
My piano playing was coming along well too. It was the first time that I had had the time to lavish as much attention as I desired on my E-type Jaguar substitute. ‘Für Elise’ was almost mastered, and I was embarking on ‘The Entertainer’.
Mr Gibbon came round to complain ...