An ode to slow weekends

A slow weekend is an incredible thing. This is how it goes. 

On Friday night, I get takeaway food, sit down and let my muscles finally relax now that the week is over. 

On Saturday morning I sleep in late, and read in bed for ages. I'm in no hurry to leave the warmth of my bed on a crisp autumn morning like this. When I do get out of bed, I sit and have a cup of tea with my Mum. I make breakfast, taking my time. I visit the bakery and get some pastries to have with coffee. By then, it's past midday. 

The afternoon is for errands. I drive around town, enjoying the sunshine and listening to some nice tunes. I pick up some groceries and a gift for a friend. I come home and potter around, tidying and maybe cleaning a little bit. I have a cuddle with the dog. 

In the evening, I sit down with a glass of wine and call a friend. Then I settle in to watch some TV by myself in bed. The perfect Saturday night. 

On Sunday, I wake up late again. I go and get coffee with a friend and we talk about uni and what the future holds. In the afternoon I do some work on an assignment, but I'm taking it slow. I get up and make a shepherd's pie which should feed me for most of the week. I make a plan for managing my workload for the week to come. Then I sit in the afternoon sun for a bit, just soaking up the rays and being still for a minute. 

When Sunday evening comes around, I feel great. I feel rested, for once. 

Sadly, most of my weekends aren't this slow. Usually I have assignments due, or social commitments, or whatever else it is that makes life so busy. 

But there is nothing better than a slow weekend.