Now, when I say holiday I don't mean holiday holiday. I didn't go away to an exotic island for a couple of weeks to bronze myself while beautiful women serve me delicious cocktails. That's for quitters. I went to a log cabin in the middle of fuck not nowhere for a few days and topped up my incredibly pale skin tone.
It wasn't even that remote either. I stayed in Tilford Woods in Surrey (it had to be close because Jerk doesn't like trains) and was surrounded by an incredible mass of natural beauty. I saw next to none of it. Without exaggerating each day was like this: I woke up, had breakfast, had a nap, walked Jerk in the woods for an hour, have a hot chocolate, have a nap, walk Jerk, cook dinner, have a nap, let Jerk out for a pee, go to bed. It was fucking brilliant and I realise that I've just invented a new MEGA-PASTIME!!! A mega-pastime that I call Extreme Sleeping.
The great thing about Extreme Sleeping is that it can be done by almost anyone (dead people aren't allowed to participate. Sorry to be racist but that's considered cheating) and there is little to no training involved. All you do is eat a load of food, stick the central heating on full and BANG! You're playing Extreme Sleeping. When I realised that I had been sleeping for an average of 16 and a half hours a day I wasn't alarmed or embarrassed, I just realised that I had found an activity that I'm good at. I'm very much a glass half full kind of guy or, at the very least, a lovely hot water bottle half full kind of guy. It may seem like laziness, to the untrained eye, to go to bed straight after breakfast but to me it shows commitment to my new hobby. I now know how those snowboarders and bungee jumpers and putting-your-cock-in-a-lions-mouth people feel like. They're laughed at by the masses because they live life to the EXTREME. Like me.
"No-one can sleep for that amount of time and be happy, ...er...what's your name again. Martin? No, Michael. Yes, that's it. Michael", I hear you say but you are SO wrong. I just had a 30 minute sports-sleep right after that last paragraph. WHOOO!! The rush I now get from just sliding away from all conciousness, awareness and responsibility is freakin' AWESOME! I would get a tattoo that says "Bedtime All The Time" but I can't be bothered.
All I'm saying is that when I visit a friend who has been on a fucking safari in Africa and wants to show me his photos of him feeding Rhinos and nursing a Zebra back to health and then he asks me if I have any photos of my recent trip I want to be able to look him in the eye and say "No". No, because my holiday was better than yours. My holiday was the dream lifestyle of those lucky, lucky few coma patients that win life's lottery and manage to step away from EVERYTHING. No fear of being attacked by a lion, no frustration at the Germans taking all the loungers at the pool, no talking to people who "always come here at this time of year. We know the place really well. Here, let me show you around. We can go for a drink together later in the Kon-Tiki Fun Pub".
Just sleep. Blessed, blessed sleep.
And the occasional sound of a fucking Chinook helicopter ruining everything. Why do the military like the middle of nowhere as much as I do?
Well, I didn't say it was perfect but being away and sleeping for four days has left me feeling great. And get this: I have no idea what an iPad is. Night night.