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The gentle art of pottering

— by Judy Rumbold

 

 

 

May is a joyous month for all sorts of reasons, not least gamboling lambs, explosions of blossom and the fact that it marks the unofficial start of the pottering season. For the uninitiated, pottering involves wandering aimlessly around the house or garden in a pleasingly disassociated meditative state, straightening pictures, wiping plant leaves, or de-bobbling jumpers. A bank holiday constitutes pottering paradise, and this month there are a blissful three long weekends over which to endlessly mooch, idle, snip and tweak.

But it’s important that pottering activities aren’t taxing, time-sensitive or goal-oriented. Pottering isn’t jobs. It isn’t chores. It involves tasks (and I use the term loosely) that are so low down the priority scale that they don’t merit a mention on any to-do list. To get the best out of pottering, it must be pleasingly unproductive with a negligible but highly satisfying outcome. Importantly – and this is good news for pottering’s greatest fans, prevaricators and procrastinators – pottering projects can be abandoned unfinished, to be re-continued in some as-yet unspecified future timeframe.

Replenishing bird-feeders, tinkering with the layout of the sock drawer, plumping cushions, dead-heading flowers: pottering is best enjoyed in solitude. This way, the potterer can achieve heights of vacant day-dreaminess normally frowned on in a frantic, results-fixated society.  But it takes a certain strength of character to potter without being weighed down by guilt, shame and judgy self-recrimination. There is a sense that achieving nothing of very much consequence is somehow a squanderous misuse of time, but, performed properly, pottering is time well wasted. It operates in an elastic netherworld between working, not-working and glorious idleness, and is a skill worth nurturing.

A potterer should aim to languorously drift from one location to the next – perhaps in a kaftan, kimono, housecoat or other suitably loose, capaciously floaty garment. Slack elastic, baggy bottoms and general dishevelment matter not to the seasoned potterer: comfort is key. Optimal pottering footwear includes slippers, mules and knackered old garden shoes with the heels trodden down. Shuffling is good, as is scuffing, meandering and dawdling. Hum tunelessly, whistle under your breath, have a good scratch – potter like nobody’s watching.

Lately, there have been attempts to re-brand pottering for the Instagram generation as me-time, self-care, meditation or mindfulness. But, long before all that smug, Gwynnethy stuff came along, the process of taking restorative pleasure and solace in simple, solitary activities was just plain, good old-fashioned pottering. While the personal growth industry is fond of loudly broadcasting its journey towards self-actualisation, potterers have always been quietly getting on with it – tinkering, pootling, wafting and pondering, and more than happy in their own company.

 

Judy Rumbold is a freelance writer and journalist and new TNMA contributor. 

Photo of Sian Tucker by Penny Wincer 

Sian Tucker runs Fforest – a lovely retreat in the Welsh countryside – with her husband James and eldest son Jackson.

 

 

Be sure to potter in comfort:

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