lost days

Birthday weekends are always messy, and this weekend was no exception. I left work early to go present shopping and have my hair cut, popping into the library on the way and stocking up with this weeks books. I found the presents I was looking for quickly, and so stopped for a cup of coffee before strolling to see my fabulous hairdresser, Peter. Trips to the hairdresser are always a treat, a time I get to spoil myself, relax and drift away. Friday was no exception and I left feeling revitalised and ready for anything.

Lyndsey and I met up for a quick drink at the Park Crescent, which turned into quite a few drinks and a short and giggly journey back to Lyndsey's flat where we gorged on pizza and pestered Pete until he eventually fell asleep, snoring his way through Jaws 3 (which I have to say, is the best way to watch it).

Saturday was a day of pain, drilling, sawing, pain, and a bit more pain. Whilst family worked around me, I sat on the sofa feeling sorry for myself and groaning under the agonies of the world. An ex-boyfriend once told me that he really enjoyed hangovers, something I not only could not comprehend but could also never foresee myself agreeing with.

Sunday morning broke with sunshine and blue sky, and I found myself smiling broadly after twelve hours sleep. I went to The George for lunch to celebrate Lyndsey's birthday with the gang. I sipped spicy carrot and parsnip soup and slowly drank a pint, what a glorious way to spend an afternoon.

But now it is Monday again and it doesn't feel as if the weekend ever existed. I long for the holiday break next week, when I will finally start to make a dig into clearing out my house. When I shall drive up to Knole with James, the top down on the car and my hair blowing every which way. Six whole days of freedom, it can't come soon enough.