No Energy Needed!

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 851, 20 December 1929, Page 8 (Supplement)

No Energy Needed!

By

A. R. D. FAIR BURN

AST year I took my annual heli lay In December. For some weeks beforehand I had spent a considerable yJgsQj amount of my time, in the off ce and IS/ 1 out of it, conjuring up visions of bliss—of the joy of unfettered goings and comings, and the ecstasy of being, fo r fourteen lovely days, the entnin of my soul, immune from the laws of economic necessity, i h a j allowed myself to indulge in pleasant Pipe-dreams. There were, of course, to he no wild parties, no late nights, no twisting of vine-leaves in my hair. Rather would I seek out the lotus -go to Rotorua, perhaps, wallow in Hot baths, eat. sleep, read frivolous novels, and 101 lin unbuttoned ease on an hotel verandah. Or the West Coast. .. . j saw myself sprawling on the burning sands, or riding the long combers, or diving beneath them into that still, green, wonderful world that man. the slave of oxygen, may enjoy only for the length of a held breath. I steadfastly refused to decide on any particular plan. I would enjoy them all in anticipation, and pick and choose only at the last moment. Two days before niv holidays began I was still delightfully irresolute. I told my landlady, in answer to her inquiries! that I would probably shove a few things In a bag on Monday morning, if it was fine, and drift down to Hawaii for a week. Monday morning came. I woke at eight-thirty and crawled out for some breakfast. It was raining heavily, so I went back to the sheets, ami read Thomas & Kempis for a couple of hours for the good of my soul. At the end of that period my bed still seemed fairly comfortable, so I turned my attention to Edgar Wallace, to see how he was bearing up under the strain. At seven o’clock that evening I was still fathoms deep in blood and mystery. The following morning, after an immense breakfast, I picked up an old number of “Fluffy Stories,” and came upon the first instalment of a serial. It was called “The Shattered Venus.” I read on. The finish of this instalment left the heroine in a most interesting position. She was bound and gagged in an hotel bedroom, with the blackguard Gaston Le Roux heating up a poker in the fire—“an evil smile disfiguring his lips” what time the young man to whom she had plighted her troth was clambering passionately up the fire-escape. I felt I had to see this tiling through. So, at the cost of a little profanity, 1 spent the morning and part of the afternoon rooting round the house collecting the old numbers, and at half-past three had the story complete except for one instalment. The following morning I was woken by my landlady who brought me in a plate of strawberries. ' Her intentions were excellent, good soul; but this sort of thing was softening mv moral. Yes, I must pack up and drift down to Kawau. . . . Yes, indeed. . . . But I bore you. Let me be brief. The interests of truth will be served if I merely say that by tha time Sunday, the last day of m.v holidays, had dawned, I had read eleven novels, attended six picture-shows, and had spent approximately two hundred hours in bed. . . . I am bound to admit, in retrospect, that this compost of sloth and gluttony must rank as mv favourite holiday. You frown slightly'? I was sleek, well-nourished, and as contented as an old cow; the tissues of my body were as grass after February rain—were, indeed, almost lush—and my mind was like a calm, delicious pond. I was at peace with the whole world. My holiday had cost me practically nothing. And, in addition tc this, I had been able to taste in anticipation for weeks beforehand the delights ol a dozen holiday resorts. To ask more of any holiday wo lid be ungenerous.