The lost art of doing nothing: Why the sofa is a symbol of modern achievement and rest

Modern civilisation has made a curious error: it has confused movement with progress. The ambitious must rise early, count steps, answer emails while walking, and spend Sunday 'recharging'. Against this self-imposed tyranny stands one of humanity's finest institutions: the sofa.

To spend an entire day on one is a sheer achievement of non- achievement. Morning begins with something resembling coffee, and the vague intention of stirring up. By noon, you've dug deeper into the sofa.

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A book lies open on the table, unread, but companionable. The phone's unexamined and rejected. Lunch arrives in packs of chips and namkeen. Outside, people are reversing badly into parking spaces, while the blissful sofa-dweller has attained sovereignty over time.

There are no appointments, only naps. The distinction between 2pm and 5pm becomes academic. You watch half a film, read three paragraphs, consider getting up, and wisely decide against rash action.

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There is joy in this surrender because most days demand that we become somebody: employee, employer, ward, guardian, colleague, spouse, commuter, customer, seller, person-who-replies-promptly.... The sofa asks nothing, except that you occasionally rearrange a cushion.

By evening, remarkably, nothing has been accomplished. Which was the entire point.