My Plans For The Weekend

These days, weekends don't mean that much. Every day, excepting Monday and Thursday, is the weekend for me. Nevertheless, I have plans.

Tomorrow morning I plan to be awakened early by Roy, barking to get out. Realising it is Saturday I will get up at whatever ungodly hour it happens to be, pull on a pair of jeans over my pyjamas, stuff my feet into my gardening boots, wrap myself in a big coat and head to the garage for the Saturday Guardian.

On my return, I will start breakfast whilst perusing the magazine.

I will remove jeans, boots and jacket and return to bed with coffee and bits of the paper.

Sometime later I will get up, feed and water the chickens, drink more coffee, check the internet to make sure no celebrities have died in the previous 12 hours and drink more coffee etc. etc.

By now Bert will be up and aching to begin tiling the kitchen. I will have cleared it to aid him in his labours. To further help him, I will repair outside to sow vegetable seeds in the polytunnel.

At some point, I will return to the house, admire Bert's progress and if it is a fine day will work in the flower garden. And after that, I will simply potter about.

If visitors turn up and if they are at all politically minded I shall run my latest survey past them. Which is,

Name the worst Prime Ministers in your lifetime?

So far most people are saying May and Cameron.

On Sunday... oh, I haven't a clue about Sunday. I'll potter a bit. Maybe sow more seeds. Read. Take some photographs if it's fine. A walk?