Monday, 28 March 2011

What a great weekend...or maybe not?

Don't you just love the weekends?


Friday evenings come with plans on how to make this weekend the best one yet – relaxing, cycling, walking, running, tidying up indoors, gardening, family outing, movies (Do feel free to plug in your ideal weekend pastime).

With this great weekend planned ahead, you decide to make a quick stop at the pub for a drink or two. (I could have sworn I saw so-and-so from work through the glass doors). Besides, what better way to start what could potentially be the best weekend ever, than by having a few drinks with some of the work crowd?

Fast-forward that and you end up leaving the pub at about 11:30pm. You’re completely drunk (I don’t know it, by the way, I just think that people are whispering and now I need to speak louder to be heard!) and unsure of how to get to the train station. You manage to get to the train station, find your train ticket (what are the odds of that, in my current drunken state!), head to the platform and wait for your train.

You get off at your stop (I still don’t know how that happened!), start walking home and manage to get into your flat (I really need to get someone to look at the lock. It took me over 20 minutes to get the key in).

The rest of the night is spent shuttling between your bed – with your pillows tightly pulled over your head blocking out all light, and the bathroom – bringing up whatever is left of the chicken wrap you had for lunch (wait a second, was that really the last meal I had?). You have a splitting headache and you hate any form of light!

You finally come to life on Saturday at about 3pm. Still groggy, painfully hungry and looking very unkempt. You’re still wearing your work clothes, by the way. And you know there’s no way to get your clothes to the drycleaners in time for work on Monday morning. Bugger! You rush into the bath and take a long shower, come out and take some painkillers for the headache, put some clothes on and head out to the shops to get something to wear to work on Monday.

You get to the shops at 5:15pm. (I live outside London by the way. The shops on my High Street close at 6pm and do not open on Sunday). The shop assistants are not really impressed with you turning up so close to the end of the day, looking so dishevelled. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the shop mirror and understand the reason for the glaring looks (I thought I ironed that sweater. And what is that yellow stain on the left thigh of my trousers?? How did I miss that?)

You head straight to the clothing section and pick out an outfit. The selection sucks but beggars can’t be choosers. You head out the door and right back to your flat (I can’t believe I just spent £145 on clothes I know I will never wear again!). On the way, you realise you haven’t eaten all day (save for that piece of dry toast I had with the painkillers just before I left the house). You stop by the local Chinese takeaway, get yourself some rice (nothing too oily for now). You sit in front of your TV at home eating your rice and watching BBC1 and thinking, ‘Where has my weekend gone????’.

It’s an early night for you and you wake up refreshed on Sunday. (What’s that dripping noise?) You look into the bathroom and realise that you never fully shut off the shower after you rushed out yesterday. Now there’s a leak in the bathroom and you know you’ll never get a plumber out on a Sunday without spending a fortune. You try to fix it, but no success. You call for a plumber and they come in (2 hours later!) and fix the problem - £75 callout fee and £40 for labour. (Ouch!)

It’s now 6pm on Sunday evening and you look outside. It’s getting dark and just starting to drizzle. Frankly, you are in no mood to go out. You go into the kitchen and make yourself a bowl of pot noodles. The last one. (I completely forgot I needed to go grocery shopping this weekend. Seriously, do the expiry dates matter on pot noodles?) Where did your weekend go?

(So much for the grand plans of Friday night....Imagine how different it would all have been, if I’d never looked through the glass doors and seen so-and-so from work?! But then again – where’s the fun in life????)

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