In my twenties, a whole weekend to myself with no-one to see and nothing to do would have been nothing short of a miserable disaster. In my thirties the same would have been unthinkable with 2 young nippers and a husband whose sole career aspiration was to take every available job that was a minimum of 200 miles away thereby involving one night , at least , in a hotel.
So here I am in my forties and I've just waved goodbye on the doorstep to my husband and slightly' larger than nipper' sized children with the prospect of 48 hours of uninterrupted solitude. So have a stocked the fridge with Bolly ? Maybe laid aside a couple of bars of Galaxy's Fruit and Nut ? Stocked up on trashy flix and mags ? No , it's off to bed at 9 with a lemsip and the prospect of a lie in tomorrow morning. Phone's off the hook , a 4 pack of croissants awaits by the coffee maker, heaven on earth. I've always loved being by myself. Is that odd ? I crave peace and silence. No need to answer any questions. No-one to answer to . In which case who am I writing this blog for ? Me probably.