Never stop. Never settle.

So goes the tagline to a cognac advert, which used to make sense to me, but has since been updated and now merely wastes 30 seconds during half time in the football. (I do recognise that I’m not the target demographic. I hope it makes sense to them.)

I guess that it’s a motto designed to encourage continual improvement and personal growth, but it speaks to me in a different way. Just recently, I’m struggling to relax. Sure, there’s a list of jobs this long [indicates long list] that need doing, but that’s always been there. And I know that this is a Sisyphean challenge, and I’m content to knock things off it one at a time.

I can like to be methodical with my rock pushing.

However, it used to be the case that after a long day of doing things, I could then sit down and enjoy the football or some pirated programme from the UK. That doesn’t seem to be possible anymore.

Of course, this is an extreme situation depicted above. I’m not suggesting that I will be flushed down the metaphorical toilet if I stop for a while: there’s no danger in slowing down every now and again. I just don’t seem to be able to do it.

My downtime is now spent walking the beagle or in the gym, but it’s just a few hours a week and while I’m doing that, I’m already planning what else needs doing that day. Those evenings in front of the TV, admittedly shorter and less structured now that the kids are getting a bit older and staying up a little later, don’t seem to be as appealing as before, and I’m ready for bed early – maybe because I haven’t relaxed all day.

I’m not convinced that this is a bad thing. It’s just not a normal thing for me. Probably just another change that needs to be adapted to, rather than something that needs to be interrogated in an introspective blog post.

We’ll leave it there.

Easy Life

It’s a pleasant 28°C today, although the SouthEaster blowing through made me wonder if Lionel Ritchie was in Cape Town on the weekend back in ’77 when he wrote the hit Breezy Like Sunday Morning. Either way, it doesn’t remind me in any way, shape or form of the Decembers of my youth, but Kpu has been making use of the “rocky-beddy” (Hammock) to get some R&R in the back garden today. I’d have been hypothermic if I’d tried that when I was her age.

Dad’s job was to sit next to her like some sort of colonial servant and rock the hammock gently from side to side as she sang to herself and looked glamorous.

Tough life, hey?