Let me
start by saying I am no artist.
Last
weekend I had hours of free time to
myself; Tim was away teaching law students the art of advocacy for two days and
I decided to stay in London and, well, relax. Sleep in. Be leisurely. Be carefree.
So how’d that go?
Well, the
epilogue is that in fact I had a very enjoyable weekend despite not having Tim
around to spend the time with; weekends are our time to really catch up, and we
look forward to the opportunity to sit together and read the paper, take long
walks, and linger over coffee and conversation.
I’m not
sure most people would read how I spent my weekend and label it relaxing . . .
then again, we all have our paths to tranquillity, and it may not include
eating popcorn from a big bowl (because it’s easier than having to dig down
when you get to the bottom of the bag) while stretched out under the duvet
watching Audrey Hepburn movies (though that would certainly be one of my
definitions).
On Saturday
I found myself up early—7-ish—and ready to start my weekend relaxing. (OK,
first problem, but I tend to get up early no matter what the day of the week.) Quite
honestly I didn’t have much of an agenda for the weekend other than dinner out
with friends . . . but then as I brushed my teeth I thought that it would be
nice to do the laundry, as Tim often does that, so I sorted the basket and
started with that task. Taking my coffee to relax with to the living room, I
realised I didn’t like the way the new TV was set up; there was “stuff” on the
shelf behind the TV that was now mostly inaccessible. I cleared the cupboard
below the shelf of a few miscellaneous items to re-home the DVDs and re-shelved
the books. Oh, and I alphabetised the DVDs by title. As you do.
Earlier in
the week I found that the new “smart” TV wouldn’t play DVDs from one of the USB
ports that attached a portable player. Second cup of coffee in hand, I moved to
the computer and researched why, and when I couldn’t find a good answer I
contacted Samsung. The lovely woman on the other end told me “it won’t happen”:
the USB player was not meant for such media. I needed to use an HDMI port to
connect a Blu-ray player. And the complete set of Breaking Bad I’d bought Tim
for Christmas was waiting to be watched. Something had to be done!
Second cup
of coffee still being sipped, I browsed to the John Lewis website, found a
reasonably-priced Samsung Blu-ray player, and ordered it via their wonderful
Click and Collect service to any local Waitrose shop. There’s a store at the
Angel, a short 15-minute bus ride away. Purchased and ready for collection the
following day (yes, on a Sunday) after 2 pm. Perfect for me to buy groceries
for dinner at Waitrose.
I headed
upstairs to get dressed, pausing in the spare bedroom. An opportunity stared
back. It was not lovely weather-wise on Saturday, so why not sort which photos
will go into the multi-frame (4 horizontal, 8 vertical, one 8 x 10) still shrink-wrapped
and needing attention? We bought three of the same frames and decided one would
be for the two of us and one each for family photos. I’d already completed my
family frame, but thought I could find some photos and make suggestions to Tim
for our frame. I went back to the computer and started looking at photos I had
over the last few years, keeping in mind what I needed to populate the frame.
It didn’t take long to find ones I liked—some from our trips to Vietnam and Sri
Lanka, and recent selfies along with a few of my favourite wedding photos. I
downloaded them on to a USB stick; before collecting the DVD player I could pop
into the Snappy Snaps on the same street as the Waitrose and make prints.
Sorted.
Fortunately
my enjoyment of Six Nations Rugby made me sit down and watch 90 minutes of
Scotland v Italy before heading out to dinner—and I managed to sit relatively
still, though I did use the opportunity to catch up on some personal email
(mostly during the half). Hurrah.
One
highlight this “solo” weekend was certainly having dinner with friends, which
meant getting out of the house. I have found that in particularly cold, wet
weather it’s easier just to stay in and be creative about what’s in the cupboards
for meals. I’ll admit I did some of that, choosing to have oatmeal for lunch
instead of, gasp, walking around the corner to the 24-hour shop for anything
else.
Sunday
morning arrived and I was up early; I never perfected the fine art of lying in
bed by myself, and have always been “a morning person.” That and, well, I have
things to do, places to go, purchases to acquire from my relaxing Saturday! I
had a leisurely breakfast, spending time with a cup of coffee while gazing out
to the garden and noticing there is no bird seed in the feeder. Mental note
made.
At about 10
am I decided that I can head towards the Angel, get off the bus a few stops
early to get some exercise and then rock up to Snappy Snaps when they open at
11 to get my prints done before my click and collect is ready down the road at
Waitrose. I get there a bit too early and decide to stroll Chapel Market and make
two unexpected purchases—shiny red baby plum tomatoes from the Isle of Wight
tomato stand (a real surprise and a wonderful treat because the tomatoes are
delicious) and bird seed from a guy selling a variety of household goods. For
£1 each for a decent-size plastic bag it was well worth the weight to carry
them. I buy two and put them both in my own carrier bag and head back toward
Snappy Snaps, looking at each of the stalls. One of them was selling techy-type
stuff. Like HDMI cables. I think, do I think the player I bought comes with
one? Probably not. But I’m not sure . . . I asked the gentleman what time his stall
is open until, in case I got home with my player and realised I need one. He
blandly tells me 4 pm, unimpressed that I’m not actually buying anything, and I
make another mental note.
It’s still
early and I notice that Butler’s is open. It’s a great shop filled with
household things like dishes and candles and paper napkins and furry animal
heads you can hang on the wall—in other words a fun place to kill some time. I
came across some lovely artificial orchids that, at a distance, look quite
real. I decided to purchase one for the spare bedroom where once there was a
live orchid that has since shed all of its flowers. £3.99 well spent!
I finally stroll
up to Snappy Snaps for 11 on the dot and the door is unlocked and the shop is
thankfully empty. A lovely young woman approaches and I tell her I have these
photos on a stick and have never used their kiosks to order prints. She smiles,
says “no worries” and walks me through choosing the 4 x 6 matte photos and
displays for me the one I want enlarged to 8 x 10, which looks lovely. In a few
clicks I have placed my order, paid for it, and have been given a receipt to
return in 20 minutes. Tick!
The card
store is next door and I pop in to buy a few cards for upcoming events. This is
turning out to be a successful venture out. Not completely relaxing, but there’s
only minor stress with trying to find two cards I like (I am SO particular
about cards; I can take hours / multiple visits to choose.)
It’s still
too early to go to Waitrose to collect, but the Sainsbury’s next door is open
and I think I may buy a newspaper or just stroll to kill a few more minutes—having
recently picked up a purchase I know that I cannot have it before 11:30 as
there’s some rule about providing a “service” before then, even when the shop
is open for browsing. In some strange bit of coincidence as I wander through
Sainsbury’s I pause in front of an aisle that is selling . . . HDMI cables. I
decide it’s a sign—not only that, but if I buy it now and don’t need it I can
always return it to Sainsbury’s whereas it may not be so easy at the Chapel
Market vendor. Tick!
Waitrose is
now open for service and I approach the customer service counter with my phone
displaying the email with the order number, and the helpful woman suggests I do
my grocery shopping and come back to the desk to collect my purchase. I am
happy to do that, and find my list of things to purchase, basket in hand. I
quite like Waitrose because they have an interesting selection of food items—wonderful
breads, a great assortment of cheeses and olives, and a nice selection of fish,
which was Tim’s request for dinner. I decide on some lightly-smoked salmon,
some cannellini beans to sauté with garlic and herbs, some leeks for St David’s
Day and a few other bits and bobs we need around the house (there never seems
to be enough wasabi). I use the self-check-out register and return to the
customer service window for my collection.
The lovely
young lady hands me a box I instantly know is the wrong one. It’s the wrong
size, and sure enough the name on the box is Devine. So close, and yet . . .
not quite. She apologises profusely (it’s a John Lewis / Waitrose trait to
provide exceptional customer
service), re-takes the order number and disappears behind the Click and Collect
door with the secure keypad.
While I am waiting
patiently at the reception desk, she calls down to the woman at customer
service reception to request that I repeat the number; I once again show the
email on my phone. Apparently the order has been flagged as already collected. Mrs Devine has my package,
I presume. I am now beginning to think that I am going home without my Click and
Collect purchase. That John Lewis has let me down.
But then
the door swings open and there it is: a package with the right surname. I
manage to get it into my other carrier bag brought exclusively for the box size
I knew it would likely be, accept her additional profuse apologies, and head
out the automatic doors toward the bus, laden with goodies.
What to do
first? I decide I will set up the DVD player in case there needs to be a call
to Samsung or some research on Google. It is, however, a very easy plug-and-play
set up and I find the settings on the Smart TV to integrate the player into the
remote. I’m not thrilled with the set up of two boxes resting below the TV
stand, but I decide to leave it that way for now until Tim comes home. I gather
up the packaging and put it with the recycling to go out in the evening.
I then have
a moment of panic when I read the booklet to find that it won’t play “HD DVD.” What
are the Breaking Bad discs? I begin
my search for the box set, having absolutely no idea where Tim has put them. He
opened it upstairs on Christmas morning, so it is likely still lurking up
there. Not under the bed. Not by the bed. Not with the other DVDs. Not in his
desk. If I were Tim, where would I put it?
One of the
two dressers in our bedroom is a family heirloom of Tim’s, its front feet
resting on two small pieces of flat rock to keep it balanced. You have to exert
energy to close any of the drawers properly, otherwise they look askew (a fact
that has sometimes eluded small, curious children). It is primarily filled with
old photos, gadgets, and those things Tim hasn’t otherwise gotten around to
chucking. It should have been obvious, but it took me a while to open each
drawer and finally find the box set. No HD DVD label. Relieved, I take the set
downstairs to try at least one. It works. Phew.
Next? Well,
I’m so pleased with my photographs that I may as well fill the frame with my
purchases. It doesn’t take long, and I arrange and then slightly rearrange a
few of them. I place the frame in the spare bedroom where it’s hard to miss.
Tick!
The clothes
that have adorned the multiple radiators in the house are also now dry, so time
to tidy those up and fold and put them away.
It is now
time to relax. England is playing Ireland in Six Nations, and I have popcorn at
hand, decide to open a bottle of white wine, kick off my boots and put my feet
up on the couch. Tim won’t be home for a few hours and dinner will be a
collaborative effort, so there is nothing left to do but watch the hail thrash
against the window pane, enjoy the lightning and thunder, and watch as Ireland enjoys
a bit of thrashing England.
There is
something quite relaxing about being indoors while the weather rages out there and you can watch without a care
in here. Except I’m worried about Tim
driving home in such terrible conditions! I won’t be able to relax until he
walks through the door . . .
