Perfect start to the Weekend

Watching the clock, willing it to speed forward to 5.30pm, but beginning to suspect that it has stopped. Eventually, grabbing coat and bag, dashing up the street, head back, smiling and waving acknowledgements to younger colleagues dipping into pub doorways and those nearer retirement struggling with bags laden with the evening's supper. No time to stop and chat or lend a hand.

On the road, the radio presenter plays The Cure, as if you'd forget what night it is. Home, doorkeys thrown on the sofa, shoes kicked off at the bottom of the stairs, not even pausing to check the mail, it's straight under the shower, singing loudly.

Half an hour later, pulling on that new skirt, the one with the cheeky hem which flicks out when you twirl. Is it wise to wear black hold-ups? There'll be a lot of dancing, energetic dancing, they are bound to show. What the Heck! wear them anyway and bend down to fasten the ankle straps around the high-heeled shoes, the black patent ones, the ones you couldn't really justify buying but just couldn't resist.

A sassy young woman smiles back in the mirror, slicking on a deep red lipstick, patting the soft curls falling about her shoulders and unconsciously hoisting up her corset for the first time of the night, she'll be doing the same thing many times before the night is over or she's too carried away by the music to care. A quick spritz with the Chanel, behind the ears, on both wrists and once down the cleavage for good luck and she's flying out the door to the waiting taxi. It will be almost daylight before she returns, still spinning on her heels, laughing, maybe even hiccuping, not alone, the night is still young.

Anyway, that's how I'd like to be starting my weekend. Now, excuse me, I really must go feed the cat, try and find a matching pair of woolly socks but I won't get overly-stressed if one's pink and the other orange, I'll probably end up pulling a pair off Jack's rugby pile. I'm already in my pj's, about the only thing I am likely to dash upstairs for the minute I get home, and the only social invitation on the weekend's horizon is to attend a memorial service at the Ukrainian Church on Sunday. Somebody Please Sedate Me.