The weekend at last. The Friday lunchtime conversation when hopefully the footy talk has not turned you off your ham and cheese, is predominately the plans for the weekend question. The pressure is on to prepare a list of family friendly, socially engaging, environmentally accepting activities to send the conversation onwards. Having departed a recent female afternoon tea gathering on the basis of having to do my ironing, I felt the breeze of the raised eyebrows shooting skywards from the mothers who do ironing with one hand whilst at the same time bake a cake with the other. Should I feel guilty for answering the weekend question with a big fat nothing? Is it ok to do sweet FA on my days off? What's often provided is somehow a sense of I'm so busy, so therefore I am so important. It's the commitment to the 8 year old who is training for the Sydney to Hobart so therefore we get up a 4am on a Saturday to get to the boathouse or the compulsive dinner party provider who gets up at the crack of dawn to prepare the stock bones for the consomme and confit casual dinner for 17 at 7. Could there be a reverse of getting a life? Get a good lie down perhaps. A firm commitment to a nap on the coach or a promise of spending the entire morning in bed reading the paper until all the pages are stuck together with strawberry jam...watching the yachts sail past. Have fun darling.
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