And . . . relax

Huh?  Thursday, relax?

So, this is the thing.  Tomorrow I am off 'vannin' with Brad and Angelina, who prefer the canvas outdoor look.  We are going to the north of the New Forest, to a site which allows open fires and has 3 fishing lakes and a river.  The weather is looking fairly good.  Small bits of rain, but plenty of dry and even a fair amount of sun.

We cannot wait.  Without a big two-weeker this year, a long weekend with good weather and good company is just what the doctor ordered.  I plan to kick back, sit back, drink tea, eat cake, drink beer, eat more cake, fish, relax, talk and generally live for a few days without all the annoying modern conveniences, but with just enough of the nice modern conveniences.  The Maggots, I know, will absolutely love it; Boy's Own stuff with trees, water, mud and lots of space.  They will, as always, go feral and much fun will be had by all present.

There is just the slightly tedious bit preceding it where I need to close down a number of work activities, and plan my absence.  I awoke early, and was at my laptop by 5.45am, feeling the need to crack on, and at 7.34am I can report that the time was well spent, and I feel a bit more in control than I was lying in bed.

I also have a haircut this evening.  I was climbing the steps to my seat on Centre Court of Wimbledon when I suddenly remembered I had forgotten to cancel my haircut for that evening, and things being what they are, and Nige being a very busy hairdresser, I simply had to skip my usual five-week haircut, which means that, as I sit here tying this, my hair is longer than it has been since those dark days of the Seventies*, and with the sun now shining, I want to be rid of most of it.  The agony is almost unbearable,  which is, even as I type it, melodramatic in the extreme, however please be assured that I really do like my hair short.  You know that thing when you are working all day on a very physical activity and at the end of the day you are hot, tired, aching and very thirsty.  You walk to the fridge, pull out a can of 1664, pour it carefully in to a glass and take the first sip.  You know that feeling don't you.  The absolute pleasure of a cold beer.  Do you also remember the feeling you have when you are maybe half an hour from finishing, imaging that beer, and it is a sort of exquisite agony having the pleasure ahead of you.  Well, that, my friends, is how I feel about this haircut right now.

And on that melodramatic note, I wish you a wonderful weekend.  Enjoy the sun, and the beer, and speak next week.


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* I was, of course, barely born in the Seventies**, so actually I probably had that bowl-cut-half-way-up-your-ears type of cut all people under twelve seemed to endure.
** Ahem. Ed.