This is my favourite time of the week: first thing on Saturday morning when the weekend stretches out ahead of me full of possibilities, like a miniature version of the school holidays. Anything could happen – apart from the youth centre fun day, which is over and done with. As the weekend progresses, the time fills itself with mundane things and the possibilities narrow themselves down towards nothing. But for a few moments I can pretend.
Even better, the sky is perfectly blue, the lilac blossoms have come out and there are few sounds apart from the wood pigeons cooing in the big tree.
Better still, I am hovering on the brink of completing the first round of edits for my new mystery novel. The process of getting here has seemed slower than it actually was, and the writing more tortuous. The almost finished thing reads very much like others in the series – others which were much more of a joy to write. Or maybe that’s just in retrospect.
One of my main tasks for the weekend, and something that is also usually a joy, is to find somewhere to go for a short break later this month. I would usually go away for a week’s holiday about now, but I don’t want to leave someone else to medicate the cat for too long at a time as he is now on a slightly more complicated regime of one thyroid pill every night and two on Tuesdays and Fridays. We are just lucky that he is almost unbelievably good about eating lumps of cheese (mature Orkney cheddar is his favourite) with pills jammed into them! Otherwise everyone in the household would undoubtedly be covered in scratches by now.