I did something heinous and heretical today: I paid somebody to dig over part of my allotment. Had lunch with a friend yesterday and confessed. He was aghast.
“Er, but this is your hobby… right?”
I could only agree.
“You do it for pleasure?”
“And now you’re paying somebody to do something you would normally enjoy?”
He sipped his drink and considered this for a minute.
“So when are you going to start paying this guy to shag your wife?”
The logic was, and is, ineluctable. It is absurd. I am paying a man to live my life. Worst of all, it feels like the right thing to do.
Why? Because I work my arse off all the time and I spent the winter supervising a building project. There’s been no time to do a damn thing I wanted.
This is how I rationalise it anyway. It’s still shit.