The Weekend: what's all that about, then?

For freelancers, 'The Weekend' is an odd concept. Unless one rigidly adheres to the 'traditional' structure of the working week (you know: M-F, 8.30am-5pm), the whole TGI Friday thing means little at all - and Sunday evenings are rarely spent simmering under a cloud of almost-back-to-work despondency.

I can easily recall a time, back when I had a full time, office based 'big career' job (yikes, was that really me?) and weekends were pretty much the only thing that got me through the week - two whole, glorious days free of packed commuter buses, surreally stressful staff meetings and pernicious office politics. The trouble was, while five days seemed to pass insufferably slowly, the hallowed Sat/Sun passed in a blur of household chores, food shopping, desperate attempts to spend 'quality time' with friends - and crap weather. These days, I can spread all those things and more over a week without formal punctuation, and still fit in a full day's work whenever I have the inspiration/am three days behind a deadline. The funny thing is, though, the weekend still brings with it some weird sense of obligation to do 'weekendy' things, like picnics and dinner parties and looking for 'storage solutions' in Homebase. Or do what I've been doing today, which is flop on the sofa since 11am (before which I happened to finish off two major features, natch) and be told what to think by newspaper columnists (who currently seem obsessed with Obama, purple lace frocks and belly fat).

Last night I went to see Alan Bennett's 1980s drama 'Enjoy' at the Theatre Royal - rather predictably, I enjoyed it immensely. During the day, I had a long lunch with the editor of The Pig (not that I'm involved with that particular project in any way, of course) at Wagamama. The evening before, I had rather too much to drink with a very good friend of mine who travelled all the way over to Bath from Bristol only to be shat on by seagulls on the DK terrace before being chatted up by a really weird weirdo. He was saved from having us tell him to eff off in Dutch (we weren't being random - I think he was actually Dutch) by a hero from the local Petanque League; as my friend said, Only In Bath (or only, perhaps, when you're out with the Animal Disco...?)

Still working backwards, Wednesday was quiet - but then, it had to be; I'd spent the evening before on the DK terrace again, this time with Molly Mudd and too much wine again, lamenting the emotional tangles presented by our prospective (but much loved) families while the boys played the aforementioned Petanque on Queens Square. And the evening before that, it was curry club - I really don't need to tell you how that went, do I?

So that's what I've been up to - what about you? I do wish you'd all get a little more mouthy in the comments box. Or do what several dancers have started doing, and email me (animaldiscoblog@googlemail.com) instead. Don't be shy - just let me know you're out there! Perhaps that's what weekends are for ...