An appreciation of the much-anticipated sleep-in - Kevin Page

Ordinarily, you’d think retirement would mean there is ample time for a sleep-in. Photo / 123rf

OPINION

There would be very few among us I’m sure who would not be familiar with the concept of a sleep-in.

That longed for and then much anticipated extra time between the sheets where the world and all its trials and tribulations are denied entry for just a few more minutes, hours or even days if you are really that way inclined.

The sleep-in usually comes at the end of a stretch – however long – where there never seems to be enough time to get things done, the pressure is relentless and one task just rolls into another.

And then when it does seem like you might be able to squeeze in a little bit of your time something crops up out of the blue leaving you with yet another task to prolong your sentence.

I’m sure you can remember a time when you sat, bleary-eyed at the steering wheel on a Monday morning, asking yourself “Where did that weekend go?” before fixing your sights firmly on Friday knock-off and the chance of some extra dream time the following morning.

Sound familiar?

In the world Mrs P and I inhabit such a prospect has been prominent in our thoughts for several weeks now.

We seem to have been slammed by one thing after another.

I say “slammed”, it’s probably unfair to categorise it thus. Things that have cropped up demanding our time and energy could very easily be classed as day-to-do occurrences.

Having said that, all of them have required our attention and our ageing (gracefully) minds and bodies have been feeling it a bit lately.

For starters, Mrs P retired. Early. She demands I clarify that to let you know her vintage is not yet sufficient to earn her a Gold Card.

Now, ordinarily, you’d think retirement – early or otherwise – would mean there is ample time for a sleep-in and more relaxation and initially there was. Unfortunately, after a week of reading a book, binge-watching girly telly and catching up with some friends for a natter Mrs P got a bit bored and decided to spring clean the house.

And I’m talking a deep dive into the dark recesses of cupboards, then boxes in cupboards and then boxes in boxes in cupboards.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos we agreed to assist the Boomerang Child with a garage sale at her house.

This turned out to be several weeks of toing and froing between our respective castles – usually on a Saturday morning – just to get ready for the big day. Then there was the day itself, followed by the clean-up morning after followed by the two dump runs the Saturday after that.

Then I had an operation and my arm went into plaster for six weeks. So then everything that took two hours previously now took four hours. If we were lucky. Plus 30-minute stops for coffee of course.

Anyway.

After this, we subjected ourselves to a bit of personal upheaval – obviously because we felt we didn’t have enough going on already – and some unexpected hiccups threw themselves into the mix.

For starters I decided to join Mrs P in early retirement from my day job. I “retire” on June 12. Gulp. More about that another time.

So now we’ve decided to rent out the house and live in our big caravan for a while. Maybe see a bit of the country – or just the car park at the supermarket, depending on funds.

Such decisions come at a cost and for us, it’s been in time.

We’ve been scampering all over the place getting the house ready to rent out – so effectively Mrs P’s recent deep, deep clean and tidy has evolved into an even more intense – if that’s possible - a deep, deep, deep clean, tidy and sort.

Luckily that means the house is in good shape to rent out. But we’ve had to get up early to accommodate agents, photographers and site visits – all that stuff that goes along with it.

Frustratingly, everyone we seem to be dealing with wants to do it first thing in the morning. The result being there’s been no chance of a sleep-in whatsoever.

Then the grandies came to stay for a week. Miss Three and Master One run their own schedules which do not take into account exhausted grandparents. Enough said.

A glimmer of hope emerged with a last-minute invite to a function in Christchurch. Mrs P and I could get away from it all for a few days.

We’d get a nice little Airbnb in a quiet part of the city, have a leisurely Day One which would definitely include a sleep-in. Go to our function on Day Two and then have another sleep-in on Day Three before heading back to the airport and home. Perfect.

Unfortunately not.

The phone rang at 7am on the morning of our first day, Big Mama who lives but an hour away from where we were had suffered a minor medical event and was in need of some assistance. So off we went.

Back at our quaint little cottage on Day Two, the early morning light threatening to break through the blinds above our bed, I could hear a rumble.

Initially, I thought it was the goddess beside me in need of breakfast. When the rumbling got louder I wondered if another earthquake was on its way.

Two minutes later the rumbling had reached a crescendo and was accompanied by the squeaks and banging of heavy machinery. Very obviously something was going on next door so I went to investigate.

Turns out the section next door was designated for some new housing development and today they were putting in a drain. And the starting point for the trench was about three metres from my head.

It seemed pointless to remonstrate with the blokes doing the job. I knew they’d started up a bit before the rules dictated. They knew it too but what can you do? Progress dictates sacrifice sometimes.

The only good thing about it was when Mrs P came out of the bedroom, far from presenting as expected like a bear with a sore head, she was singing and dancing to the loud Rod Stewart music the builders had on.

I can tell you seeing your beloved prancing around in her night attire singing “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” is well worth an early morning wake-up call.

So. There we are and our planned sleep-in and a bit of quiet time after what seems like an interminable period has not happened. We remain upbeat however and decide to switch to the bedroom on the other side of the Airbnb. Away from the builders.

And that’s where we laid our weary heads that night. Contented smiles on our faces as we drifted off, knowing we could sleep in the next day and finally just chill.

I’m sure you know where this is going. And you’d be right.

Turns out that site was designated for development too and amazingly the builders had chosen our last morning as the one they wanted to start banging in pegs etc and surveying right outside our “new” bedroom window.

It was then I made an interesting discovery.

A bear with a sore head is able to express herself in rather colourful terms when awoken from a deep sleep.

I’m sure the builders on either side of the house were impressed.