The Italians have a phrase for it.

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At 1.30 this morning I was suddenly wakened but by what I do not know: I suspect it was a dream rather than a loud bang and I haven’t been asleep since. It’s now 1.30 in the afternoon. I do dislike this kind of disruption and the sleeplessness that goes with it, even though I find sleep to be a bit of a waste of time. But my little mind is like a hamster on a wheel and it never stops. Ideally I’d like to indulge in “dolce far niente” (pleasant idleness, the sweetness of doing nothing) for the rest of my days, just doing nice, relaxing things slowly and taking in the view from a comfy bench in the park. In the mornings I’d potter in the garden, bimble along the shore, take coffee and a creamy pastry in a coffee shop whose staff know what they are doing and know how to make their customers feel well taken care of. Lunch would be no more than a tasty bite but tasty it would have to be, taken with wine in the shade of Cypress trees with my wife. Through the sunny afternoon I might read a bit on the terrace of another cafe and perhaps go for a stroll with a like-minded friend or two, or more likely just with God who is really good at bringing out the hidden conversationalist in me, while my wife prepares dinner. Before sitting down to dinner though, at the end of the warm dusty afternoon, we’d freshen up and then freshen ourselves further with a cocktail, probably an aperol spritz, and then we would dine. Just a small diner does us now as older age approaches, some lightly poached sea bass maybe. A more weighty cocktail, maybe a negroni, would warm us as night draws in: my wife refers to it as something the doctor might prescribe to dispell a chesty cough, so maybe a peach Bellini for herself. Together we would then ponder the universe for a while on the veranda in the moonlight before retiring to the boudoir and close the curtains. One ought always close the curtains before engaging in an adventure out of respect for the neighbours and to leave them guessing.