It is not quite true to say that every activity in life is better undertaken while reclining in a deckchair. Quite possibly it's not the ideal position from which to tackle a bit of spot welding, or create the perfect Hollandaise sauce (I'm an expert in neither field).
But when it comes to vantage points from which to watch sport, you can't beat it. And when it comes to sports that offer you the deckchair option, cricket - with all due respect to beach volleyball - is in a league of its own.
We're not talking sand and sun-loungers at Kensington Oval, by the way (although that scenario certainly has its merits). Rather, the start of the English summer down at Hove, where the seagulls swoop and the county game comes with an extra dollop of seaside charm. It's a quintessential English cricket experience - and don't just take my word for it, ask the editor of Wisden.
Here, on the grass banks at the Cromwell Road End (which will be occupied by temporary stands once the T20 Blast starts), you can lie back and take it all in. Or not, if you prefer - since choosing to do something else is the first prerogative of any cricket watcher. And if you miss Jack Carson go bang-bang to crack open the opposition's resistance on the fourth afternoon, then the wonders of modernity can come to your rescue: within seconds, both dismissals are available to view on your phone.
(Turns out judging an lbw is best not attempted while reclining in a deckchair, either. Particularly when you're sitting at fine leg, trying to stay as low in the seat as possible to keep out of the wind.)
Hove is one of those places which remind you that, however much everything changes, plenty stays the same, too. From Jofra Archer and Tymal Mills, through Matt Prior and all the way back to Sussex greats like Imran Khan and Garth Le Roux, each would instinctively know their way around the ground - even if one or two might disapprove of the Sussex Cricketer pub being replaced by a block of flats (albeit one that has a public bar on the ground floor).
Of course, you can't quite see the spray or hear the waves when looking down the slope towards the Sea End. Nor can you spy the verdant Sussex Downs to the north, because suburbia. But even the slightly brutalist, 1960s-ish housing that hems the ground in has been there long enough to somehow qualify as comforting.
It would be tempting, at this point, to contrast Hove's somnolent charm with the excesses of the ongoing IPL - so much sound and fury signifying nothing. Che Pujara, a throwback in playing form, is now out in the middle, padding away a maiden of left-arm spin into the rough outside leg stump, practically begging for some snarky juxtaposition of the old world and the new.
But that's not the vibe of this blog. To channel Walt Whitman: cricket is large, it contains multitudes. There's room for sixes and powerplays and things that get people up on their feet. Just so long as I can still go somewhere and watch the game lying down.