I am part of a silent minority. For unlike some of the other more vociferous minorities, I doubt you would have heard much, if anything, about me and my ilk. This is generally because we can’t be arsed to engage with the world and explain ourselves. Far too exhausting.
I am an idler.
There we go – I’ve said it now. I’ve fallen out of the metaphorical closet (after a very pleasant snooze nestled in amongst the cosy winter coats) and landed, rather conveniently, on a comfy sofa drenched in summer sunlight and stuffed full of squishy cushions. From this position of languid repose, I shall continue. Or fall asleep. For even metaphors can make you drowsy if you are of an idle disposition.
Anyway. Idlers. What are they good for?
Well – according to Hitler, the Elizabethans, the Victorians, William Beveridge, and the Department for Work and Pensions: absolutely bugger all. According to this lot, idlers are a septic blight and cancerous blotch on the otherwise hardworking landscape of human endeavour. Ouch. That’s me told.
My fellow idlers and I, however, beg to differ. In fact, we think that being idle is a very wholesome and worthwhile pursuit; as long as this pursuit is undertaken at a steady leisurely pace with regular intervals to drink tea, lean on things, eat biscuits, lie on things, eat more biscuits and take luxuriating naps in sun-kissed grassy hollows.
Actually, I would go even further and declare (perhaps rather boldly) that being an idler can help save the world. No really. By doing less, you consume less. By consuming less, you don’t gobble up all of nature’s bounty in one sitting and then wonder why there are only three bees, a tired looking yak and a couple of Yucca plants left on the planet.
It is the doers rather than the idlers who generally balls things up. No war – as far as I know, has ever been instigated by those of a truly idle inclination. No meddlesome ideology, religion or political dogma has been cooked up and then forced fed to the masses by those that lie horizontally and watch the clouds go by.
It is said that the devil finds work for idle hands – I rather suspect that it is the opposite. I reckon the devil finds work for those who noisily, and self-importantly, flap their hands around desperately trying to get everyone else’s attention.