The Husband, the Boredom and the Wardrobe

I am in my writing room/ potential therapy room/ might be a sitting room, rattling out another thrilling chapter of Nearly King Jimbo, when I become aware of a clattering. Not a rattle, not a clank but a definite clatter coming from upstairs. The replacement of the hall carpet with an oak floor has added a strange echoey feel to the Manor, like we are living in a real Manor and not a three bed semi with Manor pretensions.

Anyway, the clatter is sufficient enough that I am enticed away from my work (even though I am nearing the finishing post of re-write numero dos) to investigate what is occuring.

'What's occuring?' I say to Andy, as I mount the stairs.
'I'm sorting out my wardrobe,' comes the reply, and on entering the bedroom I discover this to be true.

It's an odd thing, seeing a man sort out his wardrobe. Especially a man like Andy who has very, very, very little interest in clothes other than that they keep him warm/ cool and allow him a flexible waistband. I watch for a while. There seem to be three piles. Pile 1 - clothes with holes in, Pile 2 - clothes without holes, Pile 3 - things that aren't clothes e.g CDs, DVDs, used Jiffy bags that 'may come in handy one day', cardboard boxes ditto Jiffy bags.

'Why,' I ask, because Andy sorting out his wardrobe is an extremely rare occurence on par with him deliberately missing a new episode of Doctor Who, 'are you sorting out your wardrobe?'
I am hoping the response might be something along the lines of he is no longer able to close the doors and had decided to clear out some of the accumulated 'may come in handy one day' tat, but no, back came the response, 'I'm bored.'

Oh, this is not good. Come on, hands up. Who, as a small child ever said to their mothers, 'I'm booooooooored,' and were met with the suggestion, 'go and tidy your room then'?

This is supposed to be training against ever uttering the words 'I'm bored' ever, ever, ever again. And in resorting to sorting out his wardrobe Andy has actually responded in completely the wrong way. He is being a 'good child' for heaven's sake, when what he should be doing is finding something that has nothing to do with sorting, tidying or cleaning whatsoever thereby consolidating his status as an adult male.

I am suitably concerned at this 'I'm bored' declaration that I am now racking my brains trying to think of things he can do. I am thinking I need to send off for the up-to-date prospectus for the Open University, that I need to go into the loft and find some long forgotten piece of equipment that will re-ignite interest in a long-forgotten hobby. Actually, I do need to go into the loft again for another sort out, only the whole Doctor Who collection is scaring me off at the moment.

But perhaps it is good to be bored sometimes. Perhaps we all need to sit and stare and do mind-numbing tasks occasionally, to rest the grey matter and just let ourselves be. Especially after a long and stressful week at work.

So I shall hope that is what this is. A post-traumatic temporary slump to rejuvenate the batteries. After all, there are multiple illustrations to be created for Nearly King Jimbo and we are about to do a hive inspection. Good grief, there are masses of things happening here at the Manor that can knock boredom into a cocked hat.

But that wardrobe did need a good sort out.