I’ve said many times lately, that the weekend barely seems to last 5 minutes.
But then I had another thought. If time really does fly, when your having fun, perhaps there’s an obvious reason my weekends pass so quickly. Could it be, because I’m getting the most out of the weekend and enjoying it, that that’s the reason it goes so quick.
If that’s correct, then a short weekend is something to be celebrated not complained about.
Take last weekend for example.
Friday night. I finish work, head home, have my Spicy pizza and a glass of Chilean Merlot. Once I’m relaxed, I jump in the bath, then get ready to go out for the evening.
I head out to meet some friends, we have a couple of drinks, then my friend Amanda has arranged an evening at the Laugh Inn in Chester, next to the railway station. Booked in advance, the tickets are supposed to be a tenner, but with my Chester residents card, we are all able to get in for £7.50.
We watch 3 superb comedians (obviously some of my friends like certain comedians more than others, but overall, the spread was pretty good). During the breaks in between, we refresh our drinks, chat and have a fun start to the weekend.
After the show, we head to a pub called Kash. Have a brilliant conversation, hear some funny stories, then its almost midnight.
I head for home, and drift off to sleep, reading the book I received as a birthday gift, from my mate Glenn.
In the morning, I get up early (I normally get up for work at 5:40, so at weekend, 7:30 is a lie in).
I go downstairs and cook a cheese and ham omelette, which I’ve not made before. The results aren’t exactly as I would have liked, but the end result is at least edible.
I fill up my cafetiere, and drink Italian coffee, as I go through my to-read file (throughout the week, if I’ve seen anything interesting in a magazine or on the internet and haven’t had the time to properly read it, I cut it out/photocopy/print it and keep it on one side).
No need to do anything in the house, as everything has already been done on Thursday evening, so as not to contaminate the weekend.
I email some friends, plan/research some trips and then watch a recorded episode of Game of Thrones.
Its 12 lunchtime. I grab a quick sandwich and head out. I’ve arranged to meet my friends Sue and Brian at a pub called the Golden Groves in Rossett.
I’m going to be cycling there, and haven’t been before. A mistake in navigation has me crossing the roundabout near Wrexham road. No matter, I get there on time and my exhaustive cycling is rewarded with a pint. The pub is superb and the service excellent. I’ll be coming here again.
After a couple of hours of chat and discussing weekends away, I head home (Sue recommends a more sensible route, which I take). Brian decides to come with me, and get the train back from Chester to his home on the Wirral.
When we get back, I ask Brian if he would like something to eat. I consider curry/chilli/something creative, but in the end, pie and chips are chosen. While they cook in the oven, we nip next door for a pint in the pub.
While eating, I decide since its a “lad” event that we should watch James Bond (you may have seen it, its the scene with the Korean guy and the punch bag, with another bloke unconscious inside it !).
Brian heads of home and I split my time between my Kindle, and completing Call of Duty – Black Ops.
Sunday, I rise early, make a packed lunch, a flask of tea, and a filling breakfast.
My boots, waterproofs and daysack are all ready, as I head out to meet my lift.
Were doing a circular walk around a place call Llangynog. We arrive, I put my boots on and we set off. A very steep hill climb to start with, and my coat and jumper are removed in the first few minutes.
We plod on, I’m exhausted. We are passed by some people in a landrover. Mountain bikers, they are being driven to the top of the hill, with their bikes on the trailer, so they can enjoy the downhill without any of the effort (if its your sort of thing, you can find out more here ).
Unfazed I carry on. Thing is, in no time at all, were at the top of the hill and the view is spectacular. Its also amazing considering how big the hill looked from the bottom, how little energy it took to get to the top.
The walk, is part of a route devoted to St Melangell.
I thought people were teasing me, when they said it was dedicated to St Melengell, the patron Saint of Hares.
Turn out she actually was. A prince was chasing a hare, and Melangell hid the hare under her skirt, so the prince couldn’t catch it. When he found out, he made her a saint, and gave her some land to setup a church.
I thought that in reality, he probably had her thrown in Irons, but I was delighted to see the actual church is still there (with a female vicar, who reminded me of the vicar of Dibley).
After a brilliant walk, we have a couple of well earned drinks, and then head home.
Back home, its a double bill of House and Special Victims Unit while I cook a curry and prepare for work the following day.
The weekends over, where has it gone ?. Doesn’t feel like 4 hours since I was sat on the train at 4pm on Friday evening.
Next weekend shall I try an experiment and just sit at home and do nothing, to see if it lasts longer. I don’t think so, time is relative to what your doing.
As Albert Einstein said “Sit with a pretty girl for an hour and it feels like a minute, put your hand in an oven for a minute and its longer than any hour. That’s relativity !”.