So - a day in lieu - a day of rest for yours truly - a day away from work! Wahoo! All those 25 hour days slogging away - weekends spent staring at computer screens, absorbing strange transaction codes and getting excited about strange maintenance processes and routines for compressors sitting somewhere dark and lonely on the deck of an oil platform...... those days have borne fruit. What great wildness awaits me?
I could go on a bender (not literally - although I guess I could if I wanted). I could hit The Bridge Inn at 11am and make my way into town - a quick pitstop at Harkers, then on to the Victoria and a dark corner to brood over a pint of bitter and the paper. And then - my god - can it be true? The races are on - the bloody races are on and it's Ladies day. And everyone knows what that means...the gutters shall be running full with the shoeless and the half stilletoed ones, the girls who've had ten too many...crawling down the pavement, spewing as they go...their pals laughing at the sight and getting their camera's out quick so they can post the picture on facebook that night.
And the lads - spivved up to the eyeballs in their Next suits usually reserved for their court appearances and funerals. And they're looking good - and they've won big on the last race and they're gonna fight and they're gonna pull and it's still only 4in the bloody afternoon! Simple days - I wish I was still one of them.
It is tempting to join the fray - to jump in feet first - but - and here's the weird bit - without your mates there - without your friends and family there - it'd all be a bit pointless. And there-in lies the most depressing lesson you'll ever learn. There's sod all point in taking a day off with hopes of high jinx - unless you've managed to get all your mates to do the same! This is a shock that soon hit me as my friends one by one got jobs all those years ago - and those crazy days of sitting in the pub all day became a nostalgia to glimpse through a haze of time.
Even at the races - I'd miss the kids wrapped round my neck and smacking me in the face with a yoghurt pot. I'd miss sitting on a packet of quavers and drinking warm beer on the grass in the centre of the race-course. I'd miss the strange contentment. But - I wouldn't miss changing a bulging stink-arse of a nappy whilst holding a winning betting slip in one hand and a baby wipe in the other. And I certainly wouldn't miss getting the two mixed up. So I guess - some things - you can do without!
So instead - I just spent 3 hours willingly and with no actual prompting (that's gotta be worth something later?!) - cleaning the house. Yep. Radio full blast - The Cult - She Sells Sanctuary - Elbow next...and it almost doesn't feel like work. It's actually ok (kind of). After a while - I begin to feel faint and realise this is a typical male reaction to domestic chores. I consider sitting down - but like a bloody hero - I soldier on. And - I am done. One house - fully clean. Fully spick and kind of span (hide things in cupboards and glue them shut - that's my secret!). And here's the werid bit - now it's ready for the cleaner to come round and clean it. Seriously. I'll never get my head around that. Never.
Right - I'm off to iron my socks now...ok - that's a lie...town here I come! Wahooooooo!
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