Saturday, January 13, 2007

The Joy of Winter Weekends

From March through to November I work every weekend and Bank Holiday. Which is fine by me, as I loathe Sundays, as a rule, and Bank Holidays are simply an extra Sunday equivalent. This time of year is when I revert, for a brief period of time, to a normal working pattern of Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, so I can spend my weekends experiencing those joys that others take for granted all year round.

I have to say, going to the supermarket on a Saturday is not a great deal of fun. The crowds! The children! The screaming! (Bizarre, disembodied, continual screaming from the far reaches of the supermarket - what on earth was that all about? Had someone else realised that shopping on a Saturday was a terrible idea?)

Still, the good thing is I get to enjoy leisurely starts to the day, sleeping in late and then pottering about the place in my nightwear, without having to race against the clock, to get myself, and the house, decent before everyone arrives. I also get to put my wellies on and go and play in the woods - and that can't be bad!

11 comments:

C A Strong. said...

Dear Madam,
I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms about your habit of cavorting damn near naked through our woods in nothing but a pair of wellingtons and a smug grin from November through to March. It scares the bloody grouse, woman!

Yours.

Sir Charles Arthur Strong (Mrs).

Doris said...

Ahem! The grouse are far from scared, their noisy flapping is in anticipation of the stale mince pies I bring for them to peck. Don't you judge me! My hobbies are my own!

monica said...

what colour are your wellies?

Doris said...

They are green, Monica! I am such a traditionalist!

Anonymous said...

If you ask nicely, Doris, Monica might be able to pick up some green clogs to go with them.

cogidubnus said...

Oh god the thought of you pottering about the place in your nightwear (you don't say how much or how little of it there is but the mind simply boggles)...or cavorting in the woods - this is a fantasy akin to Charlie Dimmock without the water features...(other parts join in the boggling)...

Should I start quoting from scripts for the "Fast Show" or just take one or more cold showers?

In my area, Sunday at Tescos is the very worst day of the week...all the morons are in there panic buying because the store is shut from 4pm until the next morning...and trying to exit the car park can take up to three quarters of an hour owing to the idiotic exit design and the sheer volume of cars...

Additionally there is a large holiday caravan site right next to the store - guess what the Summer Sunday clientele are like...(It has to be said, despite my Wapping antecedents, I bloody HATE Eastenders)...

A Grouse. said...

I AM scared - and enough with the stale mince pies already!

Anonymous said...

The nightwear surely includes a voluminous, ankle-length, hand-embroidered lawn night gown, and one of those ve-e-e-ery long nightcaps with a tassel on the end, like Wee Willie Winkie. All very authentically Heritage.
Goes better with a candlestick than wellies, though.

Doris said...

I couldn't possibly confirm or deny the accuracy of any comments about my nightwear. The truth would prove too over-stimulating for cogidubnus, for a start.

Anonymous said...

Heating in historic houses is environmentally controlled for the comfort of the precious things, not the custodians. Therefore, Doris I suspect will be wearing at the very least 4, possibly five layers of artic underwear and thick cotton nighties with bed socks. Hats are optional, but they do stop bats pooing in your hair. Cornflake.

Doris said...

Thank you, Cornflake, you are quite correct. Plus my fingerless gloves, so I can still type importaqnt missives. Like this one.