Sit a while. Rest. It’s why we come away. To punctuate work and stop doing what we do all year so that we can do something new, something fresh. A break. As breathers go, this is a free-form instruction manual on how to stop. And where.
It’s not a geographical guide, more a series of pauses that capture the innate pleasure of putting your feet up. From a breast-feeding mum to a hiking octogenarian, we all need to sit down and let the world catch up.
Sitting is an art. Most of us are novices. We sit appallingly, slouched like slaves to computers in stale offices, or fighting for a seat on the train or bus home from a tough shift. We forget to sit like we forget to breathe.
Totnes, south Devon
On holiday, sitting (like breathing) takes on a new dimension. It reverts from a chore into a pleasure. It improves radically. We sit like gods. On a clifftop bench when legs say ‘whoa’ on an eight mile walk, or just still, like a sentry on the boulder that serves up a gull’s eye view of the ocean.
Sitting is the lax in relax. It takes away the tension in your head and the fatigue in your body. Chances are, you’re reading this on the sofa and imagining your bum plonked on a bench of outstanding natural beauty, just as we are. Your legs are twitching. It’s a sign. They want to wander, and rest. So go obey them.
Tregonning Hill, near Helston, Cornwall