It's taken me all day to write this little post because I interrupted myself so often: I took the dog for a walk, went to the airport to farewell a visitor and spent time with a friend I haven’t seen for a while. Oh. And I made endless cups of tea, propped up the collapsing trellis in the garden, flipped through a few magazines, cooked dinner etc etc etc. 

The only reason I can indulge in such mucking about is because I work from home. A home office has much to recommend it BUT every silver lining has a dark cloud. Let me walk you through the pros and cons: 

NO COMMUTING REQUIRED
This is one of the purely positive aspects of working from home. Regardless of the traffic or the weather, getting to the office may involve only a leisurely one-minute stroll past the wardrobe.
 
CLOTHING OPTIONAL
As you get older this perk becomes slightly less attractive.  However, workdays spent in bare feet and pajamas or a sarong has a perennial appeal. It’s comfier and less costly than kitting yourself out in proper office attire.

In town, on the day before Christmas, while Nelson glittered with tinsel and thrummed with last-minute shoppers, I overheard a young man ask “What’s the date today?” How I envied him his utter ignorance.

I’m hyper aware of the date because of Christmas, a column deadline, and being stuck in a war zone for another two days.

Let me explain. I’m house-sitting this week for some dear friends who offered me the expansiveness of a much larger living space and sea views in exchange for watering the garden and feeding (and loving) the household cat. This sounded so wonderful that I lept at the idea without properly thinking it through. 

​​I’ve always found the “For Dummies” books enormously helpful at watershed moments in my life: I’ve still got the tear-stained copy of Acne for Dummies which helped me survive my teens.

Potty Training for Dummies and Existentialism for Dummies made me a better mother. I owe my robust health to Medical Dosage Calculations for Dummies.

My finances are considerably healthier too, thanks to Hedge Funds for Dummies, Exchange-Traded Funds for Dummies (Australia and NZ Edition) and Success as a Real Estate Agent for Dummies. And of course, I wouldn’t be the well-adjusted person I am today, without Borderline Personality Disorder for Dummies, and the Personal Development Box Set for Dummies. 

Now that my daughter is completely self-toileting, I’m blemish-free and filthy rich through lucrative investment and real estate deals, I’ve found myself with a surprising amount of time on my hands. I consulted Making the Most of Retirement for Dummies and Dementia for Dummies on the matter. They suggested that I should take up a new hobby to fill the empty hours and give my life meaning. There was no shortage of options in the “For Dummies” back catalogue although I made a few misguided choices before I discovered the guide that would change everything. Become More Mindful in a Day for Dummies for example, only kept me busy for about 24 hours. Ditto Rugby Union Basics in a Day for Dummies. 

I found it impossible to summon enthusiasm for crochet or coin-collecting. Depressingly, I even found star-gazing, beer-making, beehive building and bird-watching of little interest. I was about to burn my copy of Living Longer for Dummies when I stumbled upon Drones for Dummies and my life took a sudden turn for the better. 

​The book lust was upon me and a book token was burning a hole in my pocket when I visited Page and Blackmore’s bookshop last Saturday. It turned out to be New Zealand Bookshop Day and all kinds of celebratory bookish entertainments were on offer including tea and toast and random giveaways.

I like random give-aways as much as the next woman, but I really had to do something about the smoke spiralling from the back pocket of my jeans so I ignored the beverages - and the possibility of a freebie  - to browse the tables of appetisingly displayed books right away.

There is a brass band though. They are playing something vaguely Pomp and Circumstance from within the barricades which stretch from the church steps, along Hardy street and then dogleg through Montgomery Arcade into the Saturday Market. 

The green-painted Spud Cart, a potential hotbed of IRA sympathisers, is not under any kind of surveillance. Beside the ANZ, there’s a small cluster of people including a child in a glittery wig and another dressed as a tiger. A woman in a peasant skirt sits smoking on a bench outside the museum. On the other side of the street, there’s another woman waiting for something to happen. She’s sitting in a striped folding chair, knees pressed against the barricade with a Fox Terrier on her lap. She’ll have a prime view of the royal entourage as it strolls by, but at the moment it’s a lonely vigil she’s keeping. A couple of women stand chatting outside Cruella’s Natural Fibre Boutique. One of them is clacking away at some knitting like an antipodean Madame Defarge.