bored. me? pah

A wonderful German woman sits behind me at work. Her sister was visiting recently and she asked me if the shops would be open on the first of the Bank Holiday Mondays. She was pleased when I said that they would be open, and because she’s only lived here for the last, say 10 years, I told her what weekends were like when I was young hours and how it’s only minimum wage workers on soulless shifts that have made the change possible.

When I was young time stood still on Sundays and Bank Holidays. I thought that they dragged on forever. They were brilliant in the summer holidays or if I was camping or by the seaside but when I was stuck on a dull rainy London detached street it was pure torture. I was bored. We were all bored, until Doctor Who came on or the late night Hammer Horror film! Boxing Day was the worst, as I would have money and vouchers burning a hole in my pocket. Easter was the pits, and on Sundays I had to go to Church. Had to. And bearing in mind that as I went to a Catholic Primary School and a Convent High School, I’d already had my fair share of prayers and hymns by the time that the weekend came along.

When I started work, for about 10 years, Saturday was either when I went shopping for clothes that I would never wear or it began at approx 5pm while I slept off the night before. It was just in time for me to eat and go out again. I would never go through my 20s again. In my late 20s and early 30s I would normally work at the weekend and they became just another day. But once I resume normal(ish) working hours I began to recognise the weekend as a time to rest. I learned all about the joys of waking early, going to the park, spending time with friends and family, watching football results come flooding in, doing DIY (a hobby for me) or reading the papers, anything really. Sometimes I did nothing but at least I got up. After a few years spent in pursuit of hobbies I now have many.

Indeed, now that one, Art Class, has finished and moving is my new project I am busier than ever. This Saturday Bro Dom came round with my great nephew. Bro Dom was doing a reccy for next Saturday and the Saturday after (fingers crossed). Together we will spruce up my ‘tired’ kitchen. He’s a genius. He actually installed my kitchen 10 years ago. He knew a rich lady who had just bought a Chelsea Mews and when she said the kitchen had to go, he said, “I’ll have it”. And so it was transported in a Transit van. The only thing that I had to pay for was the van and a work bench. I can immediately recall getting the 12-foot long and very heavy bench into the flat. The only way was via the window in my smaller bedroom. Bro levied it up and I had to hold onto it while it rested on the windowsill and he ran up the stairs and hauled it into the room. That only took approx 30 secs but it was easily one of the longest 30-secs that I have ever known as I managed to balance something 3 times my body weight. By the time he ran up the stairs to grab it I was a gibbering wreck. I was shaking and laughing hysterically and shouting out “Look. Look. Look”’. We got it in but I’ll never know how. He installed my fully functional but now ‘tired’ kitchen in a day. Wow, he’s one of my heroes. And I’ve got him for 2 more days. With us working together, for he and Daddy have taught me all I know, this place will be a Palace. Anyway, before the reccy we went to the park and together with great nephew we spent 3 hours having riotous fun. We played football, petanque, we rolled down hills, ran, found the secret garden, had a picnic, ice cream, flew a kite and laughed our heads off.

Once they had left I went to B&Q to buy 2 cheap mirrors, for re-representation purposes. And now I know why it takes women so long to leave the house as both of them make my bum look big in this or anything. I feel short, fat and wretched but at least the flat looks great.

Off to do more sugar soaping. I love it.