“Get up – you’re missing the best part of the day!”

Anyone who has ever had a parent or a grandparent or a carer of any sort knows this phrase.

It is usually most in use during weekends and holidays and generally levelled at teenagers or young-adults who are still living with their nosey relatives at times when they want to sleep till noon.

It is the sort of phrase which of course conveys love and concern for the most part, but also has a fair sprinkling of deliberate fun-spoilage which is just automatically passed down from one generation to the next.

As much as I remember that phrase pissing me Right Off when I was a teenager, I have always understood the message behind it: if you get up at a ‘decent time’ (sounding like my mother already), then you’re set up for the day, you get more done and you feel more satisfied: you have achieved something. You also get to feel all smug when other people tell you how they haven’t even gotten out of their pyjamas that day and you can respond with your inevitable tales of adventure and derring-do and… trips to the post office.

I have, until this point, firmly believed that the hours of 8am – 11am constitute this “best part of the day” – if you are not up and about between these hours, the day will never be as good as it might once have been, but – BUT – you’ll never know for sure. Because you’ve missed out on them. The best three hours in your day. Perhaps even in your life – who knows.

Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean I’m an early riser. No: I’m committed to missing out on the Best Part Of The Day whenever possible. Ideally I like to wake up naturally about 9.30, maybe 10.00 and then read in bed till about 11, making absolutely sure that all traces of TheBestPartOfTheDay are well and truly wiped away before slouching out of bed and watching TV in my Pyjamas, like any normal, decent person would.

However, I realised not  long ago that I was losing all sense of purpose in my life – I was becoming lazy, apathetic and slovenly. Unemployment, depression and boredom will do that do you.

So, I determined that I would no longer deny myself TBPOTD – No!

And, furthermore, I would not deny the world my participation in its morning mysteries, which must surely be great and awesome to have inspired untold generations to wax lyrical on how fantastic it is to be awake between 8am and 11am.

This, I told myself, this would be the answer to my lack of joie de vivre. I would get up at a decent hour, take myself to the gym or the pool to invigorate myself and then the world would be my oyster; full of possibility and promise…

I was wrong.

Turns out, 8am to 11am is only TBPOTD when you actually have something to do during that day. When all you have to do is go to the gym and try not to think about bad shit, being awake for any longer than is strictly necessary is just stupid.

I have ONE thing to do between waking and training, and that is go to the gym. Why the hell would I want to get that out of the way before 11am? What exactly am I going to do for the succeeding 8 or 9 hours until training?!

Far better, I think, to sleep like mad through the supposedly Best Part Of The Day, don’t get up till about 2pm, have lunch, watch day-time TV in your dressing gown and accept that you’re a slob. Then you can go to the gym at about 4pm and there are only going to be 2 or 3 more hours to kill before training – genius!

Exactly the same stuff gets done, but in less time – so actually you’re proving yourself to be more efficient and singularly practical.

Everyone’s a winner.