a mid-week weekend

Two days off and it isn’t even the weekend. Marvellous. How many things do you think I can squeeze into 48 hours off that doesn’t have anything to do with work?

I wake up at the normal time – Orlando still has to get up for work. I lie in bed, savouring the space, the time. A whole day stretches before me.

An hour on the phone with Mum kicks off the social part of my day. She is all excited about Lee coming to visit, and only wants to hear that the bushfires are all fine now, and winding down. I can’t seem to find the ability to get off the sofa. Luckily, I have hours of trashy TV to watch. But hunger calls as usual and I head down to Le Chien in Seddon, a rare weekday treat. I sit in a corner away from the yummy mummies and have my usual: a chicken pide with a weak Irish Breakfast tea. The only other time I’ve been here alone is when Orlando was back in the UK a few years ago, and I had my Christmas cards to write that day. This feels strange, but good.

The rest of the afternoon is all booked up. A visit to the Indian beauty salon to get my eyebrows threaded makes me feel glamorous and well-groomed again – at last. Up in Highpoint, one lady attacks my feet with a sterile blade and some nail polish whilst her colleague french polishes my hands. I leave buffed and fabulous, with striking orange toenails and princess flip flops.

In my new hair salon, I am not sure if the proprietress speaks in a yell all the time, or if the shop is just a bit echoey. It is a nice atmosphere though: the clients all chip in with opinions and stories, and Vicki treats all of her young staff like kids. I am sat at a reclining massage chair by the basin and a moisturising treatment massaged into my scalp. They leave me there for twenty minutes, head wrapped in a towel. I sleep like a baby.

At six o’clock I arrive home, ready for anything, hair glossy, toenails shiny, ready for dinner. A Greek salad, some Irish sausages and a few glasses of Langhorne Creek wine hit the spot. A possum hides in the palm tree outside the house – am I the only person who thinks they look like Wombles?

possum in the tree

I fall asleep in the middle of a conversation with Orlando, and know nothing more until morning.

Even lazier on the second day, more trashy TV fills the morning until I drag myself out for lunch again. Why not fill up on bread – it’s my hobby. A leisurely two hours at The Strand restaurant makes my day – what lovely food.


Back at home with things heating up seriously, I make several attempts at watching more TV but snooze happily for an hour instead. Orlando, Ossie and Eric put the world to rights with a glass of bubbly while I potter around my favourite food blogs.

My one work thing, a nightly ten o’clock phone call, is not required this evening. We already know we are working through the night. I am off the hook. I pour another glass of Langhorne Creek wine (a 2000 Rosemount Estate cabernet merlot petit verdot) and settle down for the evening. The cool change is coming.

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