Do you believe anyone other than the Dalai Lama who say that they have no regrets?
How simple do you think it is to learn from your mistakes?
How difficult is it to actually waste time?
Do I regret the minor celebration I had last night for the successful conclusion of H.I.'s Summer Schools and the selling of my friend's Volvo to an 87 year-old woman, or the commiseration shown to the 28 year-old woman who did not get the job of General Manager of the pub at which I was celebrating?
The last one is pretty easy - I only regret the mild headache I have this morning, not the late-night call to a nearby restaurant to complain about the loud music impinging on the very different music coming from my speakers.
I announced the decision that I would not be doing anything that I did not actually want to do this weekend yesterday as well. This means that I will not be driving H.I. to Bristol to see a friend's exhibition there - I've had enough Art for a few weeks.
My only concrete plan for the next two days is to buy a pair of door knobs. I am open to any ideas about the rest of the time, just so long as it doesn't involve getting into my car and driving somewhere.
The door knobs will mark the imminent completion of a project which has been dragging on for about two years now, just as they mark the transition of this philosophical post about life, the universe and everything to one more suited to a Lifestyle blogger.
For about 24 years now, I have been opening and closing our bathroom door with a mild but persistent sense of disdain - it is a 1960s, plain plywood-faced one which doesn't fit properly, and is surrounded by very elegant, Georgian, panelled originals.
It has never had a lock on it, so any visitors using the facilities become constipated by the possibility that their ablutions may be interrupted at any moment by someone just walking in. The fact that they are told that if the door is closed, there is someone else in there, or if it is open, there isn't, just doesn't seem to calm them down.
Some years ago I spent three months converting a small farm house near Shaftesbury into a slightly bigger one, and the first thing we did was to demolish the bathroom wall. One interesting thing I learned from this is that it takes almost no time at all to get used to bathing or using the toilet (sorry, Hattatts - lavatory) in public, especially if everyone else is forced to do exactly the same.
I bought this real wood, four-panelled door which was roughly the right dimensions, and took out the very nasty wooden mouldings which ran around the edges of the panels, then I found some much nicer mouldings, having hot-stripped the paint away from the rest of the woodwork.
The door only needed half an inch trimmed off both sides of it to fit perfectly (I hope...) so I took it to my friend's woodworking shop and leaned it against the wall. It stayed leaning there for two years.
Last week, I - sort of - regained my interest and cut off the sides with his table saw. It took about 30 seconds.
To cut half an inch off both sides of this story, I can tell you that the door is now fitted with the mouldings and a new latch, and the whole thing is primed and ready to hang. I am planning on coinciding the hanging with a day spent in Bath waiting for my mechanic to do about 10 minutes of work on my Volvo.
If you can learn anything from this post that isn't to do with woodwork, it is that it is quite possible to write at length about nothing, just so long as you have nothing better to do.