Wasted Weekends

I feel very strange things about this Monday morning. You see I didn’t do any of the things I wish I had done over the last weekend. I had great plans to spend the time decorating the exterior of my house before the windows fall out due to the winter rains and frosts. Then I thought I might finally finish the clearing of the back garden so that some form of order is visible (again before the winter frosts come). No. I couldn’t do any of this because I went to sleep.

Instead of going late night drinking after seeing Taboo on Friday night, PY and I came home because I was exhausted (I don’t think anybody else really wanted a long drinking session either but that is not the point). I slept late, got up, had breakfast and started a few general household chores. Then I thought I would have forty winks. Unfortunately, I slept until 5pm and then realised that Saturday was gone. A whole weekend had then to be squashed into Sunday (where I stayed in bed late again) and I wasn’t very enthusiastic. I also had to have a late-Sunday brunch-style event in Notting Hill with some friends over from Australia. That was great (and seeing people who live outside London always make me crave space and forget the advantages of this great city) but I can’t believe I didn’t do anything very much around the house. I had such great plans.

So, that’s why I am now somewhat deflated. The weekend – which I look forward to like every other office-bound individual – turned out to be a let down. And now I am faced with another whole working week before I get some time off. And to cap it all, I will then have to do all last week’s little jobs as well as any new ones I come up with. I hate days like this and weekends like that! And I resent the fact that it is all my fault.

On this day…