One of the things about working full time outside my house for the first time in many, many years is the renewed sense of pleasure I now take in the weekend. My, but I treasure it. In these parts, Friday is the Holy Day, so we have Friday and Saturday as the weekend and go back to work on Sunday. Which takes care of the whole Monday blues things quite nicely.
Yesterday, I wasted far too much time faffing about on the internet. But last night was good as we went to Al Ain to the birthday party of some friends we made when we went to Fujeirah. I should show you those photos of Fujeirah, shouldn’t I? I think you’d like them.
I’m determined not to waste today. Not only because this is the last day of the weekend, but because the weather is most definitely heating up, and it won’t be long before we’re all inside again.
The mister has gone off to Dubai to take part in an Important Meeting (I guess it will involve powerpoint and spreadsheets), but I intend to:
– waste time on the internet (done)
– decide which Mall is most likely to have an Ominitrix, visit said Mall, catch breath at hideous price of Omnitrix, consider saying, ‘no, you can’t have it’, then rememeber that it was totally promised and I have to;
– have trip to the Mall delayed by ten minutes while youngest lad gels his hair;
– fit in a bit of work on either my second novel or essay collection;
– go to the gym for step class (fitness level decreasing and weight increasing as a direct result of returning to work, because going to work not only involves sitting at a desk all day but also accepting the many offers of chocolate and cookies which come my way during the day – it would be rude to say no);
– stumble on step (I am not at all coordinated)
– intervene in soccer disputes;
– intervene in disputes over lego ownership;
– intervene in arguments over who is looking at who;
– mess around in the kitchen with youngest lad, making muffins and so on for the week’s lunchboxes;
– decide what to have for tea, realise that there’s no food in the fridge, make scrambled eggs, lacing my own with smoked salmon to make me feel like I’ve served up something approximating a real meal;
– check the strawberry plants;
– hopefully get in a few more rows on the right front of the cotton top I started a year ago and now just really want to see the back of (though I’ve finished the back, so could see that, but you know what I mean).
Best be off then.
PS Do you know what I really hate? Australian politicians who weasle their way into the death penalty ‘debate’ all-the-while proclaiming they’ve ‘always been against the death penalty’. I think I preferred it when Tony Abbott was talking about his sex life. (And, Mike Rann, even though I can’t vote in the upcoming election, I remember when you did it too, appalling behaviour).