I always get excited from a Thursday late afternoon onwards. The rhythm of the week drawing towards the excitement of the weekend. The end of the week. The finale. Why are we so drawn towards endings, not present in the moment but reaching out for the future. I am like that through the seasons. Desperately holding on through the everlasting dark of winter, looking for the first signs of spring, a new beginning, waiting for the end and a new start. Fridays are exciting, because it is soon going to be time for leisure. To relax. Unwind. But are weekends in reality like that? When you have children this is the time to fight your way to clubs, watch boring cartoons, worry about how to keep them occupied, stop them being bored. As an ageing adult I still love the approach of the weekend, but maybe it is this moment which is the most exciting part. The anticipation rather than the reality. We are constantly waiting. For that lottery win. For one of my tracks to be played on the radio. For that perfect job to arrive. For the post. For an email. For guests. For partners. For your football team to win. If they lose then this can ruin some weekends. How crazy is that. You wait in excitement and then are just bitterly disappointed yet again. Today, though, it is 6.30am on a beautiful late April Saturday morning in Devon. The golden sun is rising, starting to spread through our bungalow, glowing, rich, golden. All is quiet except for the occasional sound of rising birds. The beautiful dawn chorus interrupted by horrific seagull squalls. Two beautiful days spread out in front of us. The chance to chill. Mm possibly. Well actually my mother is arriving in a couple of hours and this place is a bit of a mess, so cleaning, scrubbing, tidying, shopping, cooking needs to happen. Daily chores that wait until the weekend. Surely the week is better then, when all you have to worry about is the day job. And that’s quite fun. Meeting friends, hanging out at the beach, sharing dinner, walking along the coastal path, swimming, exercising, browsing shops. All this is good. Saturday is activity day. Get all those chores and things out the way. Sunday. The only day of the week where I allow myself a lie in. Papers, books, articles, music. Through the week I mainly listen to talking on the radio but Sunday changes things. Sunday is music day. Exit from the real world and dream. Read articles on holidays. Plan your life. Allow a hangover to gently flow through your body, taking away an over active mind so that you exist in a semi dream state. Awake but chilled. Sundays can allow you to go with the natural flow, let the weather take you. Drift around. A holiday. A chance to potter in the garden. Hang out with friends. Take them back to the station after Sunday lunch. That great ritual. Lamb, chicken, pork, nut roast, gravy, too many potatoes. Sticky toffee pudding. Custard. Local beers. Snooze. Walk it off. Snack. Spend ages trying to find a film that might be good on the overly numerous streaming channels. One that you will both like. Possibly. The film comes to an unsatisfactory conclusion leading some debate on its merits. Then it is time. Time to think of the week ahead. At this moment the weekend ends. Abruptly. Getting ready for the week ahead. Meetings, emails to send, places to be, projects to rescue, people to support, money to be made. The dynamism of the week ahead racing through your mind, looking ahead to the next weekend.
