In regular work, weekends are commonly longed for. By Friday afternoon, one's batteries are severely depleted and tauntingly the weekend lies just ahead, stretching out for miles like a fertile valley you will take your time to cross. The weekend represents freedom and respite from the workaday world.
But every Monday you discover it was all just a delusion. You are back on the work treadmill and the weekend just gone flew past so quickly you almost missed it, Groundhog days for years and years.. When in work you never learn the truth about weekends. and how deceptive they are. Blink and you miss them.
But when you are retired, it's like you are living in a never-ending weekend. Saturday and Sunday are not much different from the other days of the week. When Friday afternoon approaches there's no sense of relief when the hooter goes or the bell rings.
And yet, I still remember. Getting home at five to five thirty on a Friday, dropping off my work bag and wandering down to "Hamid's" to order our regular Friday curry. Then I would nip into "The Banner Cross Hotel" for two pints of Tetley's bitter before picking up the curry and heading home.
Shirley and our two kids loved starting the weekend that way too. However, the work bag buzzed insistently in the corner, reminding me there were always weekend work jobs to be done. Looking back, that didn't seem fair - to have work infecting my weekends and family life in the certain knowledge that there was never enough time to get it all done.
Oh, I don't miss that. I don't miss that at all.
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/Oj4hobG