The plan was that I would potter about the house for a bit, leaving at mid-morning to go into town to do some shopping, intending to return mid-afternoon and catch up on the house work.
Agley, they gang, and aft too: even the best-laid plans, and this one was ad-hoc at best.
I went to the Halifax and withdrew a comforting bundle of the green folding stuff. I went to Hammicks and bought the book, three pounds off, excellent. I went to the East-Yorkshire-girl's suit shop and bought a dull dark grey suit, so that I could move all the hangars down one and relegate the shabbiest and least-well-fitting suit to a new life at the charity shop.
And then I saw the posters. How come I didn't know beforehand that this was happening? I love this sort of thing. so I glanced at the time, hurried back to the car, and drove to Ascot racecourse to catch the 2pm start.
Ah, the circus, you can't beat it, the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd. I had a ringside seat. The pole-climbing, the juggling, the martial arts, the heavy banners, the unicycle, the balancing of stupid objects, the plate-spinning, the bungee trapeze, the carnival lions, the contortionist ... oh, the contortionist, I wanted to take her home: I've never seen the "pagoda of bowls" trick done with candles before, and never from that angle ... I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I had a burger and candyfloss and hot chocolate at half time and everything, it was brilliant.
But I didn't get the rest of my shopping done. Or my housework, not that I ever get that done anyway. I lazed the evening away in front of the laptop and the telly, and had an early night.
I woke up too late for church -- I obviously needed the sleep.
I've had quite a lazy day, although the kitchen now looks a lot better than it did when I started. I felt good.
Until the stepson wandered in and said "that leak's started again." Grr. We thought that I'd fixed that a week or two ago.
Ho hum. Can I have Saturday again, please?