Calloo, callay. As of today I am not working for a while. I have another gig starting in the new year, but I thought I’d give myself a month or so of R and R, so I left my previous job yesterday. No gold watch was proffered, but I did get a bottle of scotch, which you’ll agree is better than a poke in the eye.

Last night I celebrated the only way I know how to celebrate anything – with hard liquor and late-night television. My housemate is a journo so we had to watch the frikkin Walkley awards, which was undoubtedly the least-entertaining broadcast I’ve seen in some time – there weren’t even any punch-ups. I have a dim memory of that abomination giving way to a repeat of the Seinfeld where George won’t give out his PIN number. Then came beautiful, beautiful unconsciousness.

I was woken at about 10AM by the noise of the primary school nearby, and was reminded why leftists hate children. Then I just kinda trundled down the road for breakfast at the Fine Australian Cafe with the Fine Internet Hotspot. And that’s where you find me. Whiling away the morning, watching the passing parade of Newtown, and wondering WTF to do for the rest of the day.

The last time I wasn’t working, studying or both for such an extended period was back during one of the deliberately-engineered recessions of noted Stalinist and PC Thought Policeman Paul Keating. In those days, being unemployed was easy. All that was required was scrawling a crude X on a photocopied form once a fortnight, dropping it in the slot by the door of the DSS, waking up the next afternoon and spending it all in a giddy rush on cask wine, No Frills Frozen Burger Patties and Holiday 50s. I won’t be engaging with the welfare system this time around, so I don’t even have that much to do. I’m flummoxed.

But things may be looking up soon. On Sunday, I’ll be departing for an extended sojourn at the Beloved’s family seat in country Tasmania. Fresh air, big sky, farm animals. They even have broadband, so I might post some piccies here. But even that doesn’t sound very busy.

Still, I’m sure it will all be fine. Think about it. A between-jobs blogger from Queensland retreats to a rural area, armed with nothing but limitless spare time, an Internet connection, access to a Wordpress blog and a head full of opinions. What could possibly go wrong…