Saturday Morning

A curious thing happens on weekends – I can’t bring myself to stay in bed. This morning I was up at 7am and making breakfasts for my other half and the younger children, before seeing them off to the local junior school, which is holding it’s bazaar a little later today. Since then I have run myself ragged tidying the house up – because if I don’t do it now, it won’t happen. The washing machine is on it’s third load, the tumble dryer is on it’s second load, and the washing line outside is creaking and groaning under the weight of a ridiculous quantity of clothes. Of course it’s sods law that rain is forecast later this morning. I’m taking my chances.

My mother in law is supposed to arrive at about mid-day – to wander down to the school with me. It’s the final summer fete for our youngest girl – and the second to last event for us as a family at junior school (there is a school production in a couple of weeks). It’s going to seem strange not visiting the junior school again after July – it’s been a part of our lives for such a long time now.

Half the reason for setting fire to the washing machine this morning is to get some idea what clothes I have. I’m travelling with work next week – leaving on Tuesday night, and returning on Friday night – heading north to live in a hotel for a few nights. I know I have new shirts (still in their packets) – I just need to sort out everything else.

The journey north will be the usual trudge into London, across the Underground network, and then up the east coast – about 5 hours door to door. The Kindle, and the Fire Tablet are already on charge. I will fill them with all manner of TV shows, movies and books. Being divorced from the usual rounds of chores, obligations, and expectations for a few evenings will undoubtedly cause an avalanche of blog posts – insufferable navel gazing from the train, the bar next to the hotel, and of course the hotel room. I’ll apologise in advance for that.

Change of subject. While quietly amusing myself reading the Brexit carnage on Facebook last night, I ended up talking to somebody I used to work with, because he has started a blog. While chatting about this and that, we suddenly realised it’s been 20 years since we worked together. I was stunned.

I have always looked back on that period of my life with rose tinted spectacles. It was my first “proper” job after leaving college. I worked there for five years, and even though it all came to a crashing half fifteen years ago now, it seems like yesterday. While firing messages back and forth, we started reminiscing about the various people that we had worked with – the larger than life characters. And then he wrote “it was such a shame about Becky”. My mouth fell open. There had been a beautiful college leaver that worked in the sales office for a couple of years – the kind of person you don’t forget. She had died of cancer.

The whole conversation reminded me of my various school years forming groups on Facebook a couple of years ago, and the same stories firing back and forth – about the class-mates that had died over the years. The list was long.

Anyway. Enough with the depressing thoughts. We are off to the school bazaar in a bit. I guess I should find some change to spend on the various activity stalls the kids will be running. Wish me luck!

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