Netflix and ill
There can be a lot of guilt in a life as an actor. When we are doing something pleasurable during the day - a winter's afternoon visit to the cinema, a mid-week picnic in the countryside or an unplanned day by the sea - and yetwe know that we should really be working. Except that somebody forgot to tell all our potential employers, so hence th time for us to indulge in a little trip.
I'm lucky I no longer have that feeling of not being able to relax at Christmas because there is no prospect of a job booked in for January. The thought that all the festivities, all the food, and all the money that one spends, was not going to be easily replaced by work in the coming year.
But the guilt can still be there. The feeling that I should be doing something and I'm not. Or not what I'd planned.
Following the passing of my Mum at the end of May, and all the arrangements that followed it, I was looking forward to a lazy summer but with just the right amount of things to keep me occupied. A line edit on my book - done, a couple of days filming - didn't happen, some planning for work lined up for the autumn- more than enough.
Yet suddenly, at the end of last week, I was given a licence to laze. Guilt free idleness. Towards the end of the week I developed a fever which after a few days in bed was diagnosed at the weekend as chickenpox. Fingers crossed, I'm over the worst, but I am in quarantine for the next five days.
Today was day one. I had a mental list of things that I might do. Some writing. Some catching up with people by email. But I'm afraid I didn't get past "Homes under the Hammer". Usually that's my cue on any working from home day to leave the sofa after reading the morning paper and having breakfast, and head to my desk to start being productive. Yet this morning I stayed to watch the surprising and yet economic conversion of a one-bedroom flat near Dover into an attractive residence. I dipped in and out of a book. I made two coffees and I was surprised to see the Red team make a profit in Bargain Hunt. I think it was the Georgina cocktail sticks that helped.
A toasted cheese sandwich later and I was back into my book. The potential list of things that I could do had vanished from my mind. And the most wonderful thing was there was no guilt. No sense of having to get on with something. I was ill. I am ill. I am having a day off. I cannot communicate physically with the world until Friday and I shall relish it.
Who needs to pay several hundred pounds for a retreat when I can have one in the comfort of our own home? My partner will be back on Wednesday evening, and I'm sure by Thursday I will be keen to sit at my desk and come up with as many things that I can do from home as possible. I may well be clawing the walls.
But until then it's Netflix and ill!
I'm lucky I no longer have that feeling of not being able to relax at Christmas because there is no prospect of a job booked in for January. The thought that all the festivities, all the food, and all the money that one spends, was not going to be easily replaced by work in the coming year.
But the guilt can still be there. The feeling that I should be doing something and I'm not. Or not what I'd planned.
Following the passing of my Mum at the end of May, and all the arrangements that followed it, I was looking forward to a lazy summer but with just the right amount of things to keep me occupied. A line edit on my book - done, a couple of days filming - didn't happen, some planning for work lined up for the autumn- more than enough.
Yet suddenly, at the end of last week, I was given a licence to laze. Guilt free idleness. Towards the end of the week I developed a fever which after a few days in bed was diagnosed at the weekend as chickenpox. Fingers crossed, I'm over the worst, but I am in quarantine for the next five days.
Today was day one. I had a mental list of things that I might do. Some writing. Some catching up with people by email. But I'm afraid I didn't get past "Homes under the Hammer". Usually that's my cue on any working from home day to leave the sofa after reading the morning paper and having breakfast, and head to my desk to start being productive. Yet this morning I stayed to watch the surprising and yet economic conversion of a one-bedroom flat near Dover into an attractive residence. I dipped in and out of a book. I made two coffees and I was surprised to see the Red team make a profit in Bargain Hunt. I think it was the Georgina cocktail sticks that helped.
A toasted cheese sandwich later and I was back into my book. The potential list of things that I could do had vanished from my mind. And the most wonderful thing was there was no guilt. No sense of having to get on with something. I was ill. I am ill. I am having a day off. I cannot communicate physically with the world until Friday and I shall relish it.
Who needs to pay several hundred pounds for a retreat when I can have one in the comfort of our own home? My partner will be back on Wednesday evening, and I'm sure by Thursday I will be keen to sit at my desk and come up with as many things that I can do from home as possible. I may well be clawing the walls.
But until then it's Netflix and ill!
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