NEVER let it be said that I am a stick-in-the-mud or a Luddite, for I am now the proud owner of a new invention.

Well, not an entirely new invention, more a new take on an old stalwart – the simple yet marvellous Swingball.

Cheaper than gym membership or therapy, half an hour’s whacking a ball on a piece of string is all that is needed to rid the mind and body of the ravages of daily stress.

It’s a fun game for two and yet, if you’re of a lonely disposition or all your playmates are indoors watching Wimbledon, it’s even better as a solo match because then one of you doesn’t get stuck on eternal backhand.

The main upgrade to the new-look Swingball is the addition of a plastic case, which you can fit the entire game in once you’ve taken it apart. Filled with water or sand, it also doubles up as a base.

This ingenious development is a great example of the human pursuit of progress.

You would imagine the inventor of the Swingball would now be leaning back on his laurels, mentally applauding himself for adapting his poorly received solution for lost tennis balls into a best-selling family-friendly game.

But no – always striving for perfection, he has apparently been looking for a way of refining the design since its early-90s heyday.

The only problem with its convenient new form is that you feel obliged to take advantage of it.

It might only take a few minutes to unpack, set up, undo and pack up again, but I am currently haemorrhaging time and I can’t afford to lose any more of it.

Wouldn’t it be marvellous if you could get transfusions of time in the same way that you can get ones of blood?

A quick shot in the arm when you realise you’ve left the house too late to catch the bus or have more work than you have minutes to handle.

Of course, the success of the system would rely upon donations. As people can be very precious of their time, it might be a good idea to run it as a sort of bank.

People could put a bit in when they’ve moments to spare and draw it out when life starts getting hectic again.

I would be happy to donate a couple of hours spent watching Ghost Whisperer re-runs (well, there was nothing else on TV!) and a drawn-out 30 seconds watching the woman in front of me at the cash machine fiddle with her purse.

All the impatient minutes I’ve spent waiting for my nails to dry, never quite long enough to prevent it smudging, could also go in the pot.

And I’d throw in the whole of last Friday when I was too exhausted to do much of anything.

It would be important to each have a different time type, in the same way as we have blood types, because we wouldn’t want to end up with an outbreak of incompatibility.

There would be something a little immoral in borrowing 90 minutes that should have been spent volunteering in an old people’s home and blowing it on a trip to the cinema.

Sleepless nights could be exchanged for full-filled days, doctor’s surgery waits for episodes of ER, queuing at the bar for sipping Pimms in the back garden.

Perhaps we could take out long-term investments that mature when we reach 65 so we can make the most of retirement.

And, when we’re old, an extra five minutes here or there would help us get around just as quickly once our bodies start slowing down.

There would be no longer any need to exclaim “well, that’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back”, because you could – perhaps even with interest.

ENJOYED this column? Read more by Laura Davis at www.liverpooldailypost.co.uk/lauradavis

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