Saturday, as I am sure many of my readers know, is rarely my favourite day. Last Saturday I had a lovely day with my God-daughter and her husband but visitors on Saturdays are quite unusual unless they are here for the week-end (rare now because I find entertaining quite difficult these days except for the few who come and treat the place like home (ie make their own beds, stack the dishwasher after meals (better than I do), get up later then me so that I can have a quiet breakfast and gather myself together and various other small things.)
It is now a quarter to three in the afternoon on a day which promises a deterioration in the weather. Now and again the sun bursts through the cloud but it is certainly chillier and the forecast is for the weather to become more 'as it should be in January' by tomorrow. But here we have had a lovely sunny week..
So far I have communicated with three friends by e mail, waved to a neighbour and chatted to the Post lady for a couple of minutes (commiserating again about the loss of Tess as she has a Border Terrier too). Luckily my monthly magazine came this morning as did my Daily newspaper - so plenty to read and plenty of puzzles and crosswords to do.
It's funny how leisure activites have changed with the advent of televisions and then computers and all their appendages isn't it? I sat drinking my cup of tea a while ago, thinking of what my parents would have been doing on a Saturday afternoon. Well it isn't all that cold, it's fine, there's scarcely any wind: my Dad would no doubt have been out in the garden, cutting back this and that, having a bonfire of prunings that had been lying about, forking over a bare patch if it was dry enough (we lived in the Fens and often the soil was slow to dry out). Mum would have had a pile of mending waiting in her sewing basket - socks to mend (no throw-away when a hole appeared in those days - does anyone mend a sock these days?), buttons to sew back on - even - would you believe it - sheets to turn; she used to turn sides to middle on good quality sheets if they began to be thin in the middle. Summer Saturdays (if fine) would be saved for one thing - Crown Green Bowling - their pleasure in the Summer.
My young days it would often be Walking - driving to some beauty spot and walking seven or eight miles, picnicking or calling somewhere for food on the way. I expect this happens still - that is a pleasure that disappears as arthritis creeps on.
But there is still much pleasure to be had if you look for it. The door bell has just gone - a friend has popped in for a chat and a cuppa - so put the kettle on, cut a couple of slices of Date and Walnut cake, up the Central Heating - three o'clock, just the right time for a cup of tea. Cheers!